


Daylight

by AeeDee



Series: Illuminated [3]
Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Age Difference, Depression, Family Drama, Gender Dysphoria, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pregnancy, Secret Relationship, Sexual Content, Transgender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 03:52:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 65,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14323965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AeeDee/pseuds/AeeDee
Summary: Dick has finally gotten what he wants - or did he? He's ready to start this new chapter of his life, with the man he loves, but there's just one problem: the weight of his secrets is catching up to him, and something's gotta give.





	Daylight

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this fic a few years ago, the awaited sequel to 'Illuminated'. It was intended to be the closing chapter of this story. Unfortunately, I fell into a massive writer's block, coupled with the onset of a major depression. I'm now recovering, but this fic was one of the sacrifices I had to make.
> 
> So without further hesitation, I'm presenting the final chapter of this story.. and it's unfinished. It may remain unfinished for good, but it's got a lot of content, and it answers most of its questions. There wasn't much left to go, from where I abandoned it, but if you have any questions, please feel free to ask and I'll try to be diligent about filling in any plot points I neglected to address. Thank you for your patience, and I hope this one's work (at least some of) the wait. I appreciate all of you, and the kind comments you've left on my work during my silence.

He told a lie, to his face.

“You can’t afford to be reckless,” that low voice, sharp and steady.

“I haven’t,” the words are heavy in his mouth. His face starts to burn from his lips to his temples but he keeps his posture upright. When he frowns, it’s gradual and natural. “I promised you I wouldn’t,” with a single nod in Bruce’s direction. “I won’t lie to you, Bruce. You know that.”

A moment of silence, as that resonates. Bruce inhales slowly and lets it out as a faint sigh through a tense mouth. Almost gives a dismissive look, but it’s not cruel. “Well,” and Bruce uses that word as a placeholder as he thinks the rest over, and then nods sternly, “Be careful.”

Dick swallows hard, but he doesn’t let the tension show in his face. Speaks faintly to avoid any emotion bleeding through, “I will.”

A hand on his shoulder; it burns. “Remember. Your opponents. The press. Eyes and ears, everywhere. They’re looking for signs of weakness.”

Dick nods, and he swallows that tension in the ensuing silence.

Bruce turns away. Glances back down the hallway, towards the sparkling lights glittering from the ballroom. Idly straightens his tie and he’s drifting towards that grand doorway. Through the shadows of the hall, towards the light at the end that’s dizzying and overwhelming and everything Dick doesn’t want to think about right now.

Once he’s gone, Dick allows himself to sink; just enough. Leans back against the wall and exhales a shivering, broken sigh. Eyes glossing over, and a rare moment of terror seizes his chest. It’s not even terror, exactly; it’s a momentary sensation of helplessness.

It’s the look Bruce gave him when he asked, point-blank, if there is any truth to those words, that rumor he heard buzzing on the news radio. That tense car ride when they were both listening to that disembodied voice, held captive by words they couldn’t yet talk about.

It’s the ache in his soul when he said, “No.” 

 

Dick Grayson Wayne is standing beside the incomparable Bruce Wayne on a podium before a crowd of adoring faces and excited voices. A wide smile, and his eyes are shining from what others mistake as joy. He projects his voice with his best attempt at genuine happiness, keeps it warm, “Thank you so much for this honor.”

Bruce’s hand on his shoulder is heavy and firm, professional as he maintains a fixed, gentle smile and gestures towards the crowd as they give applause.

“I would like to tha-nk,” an accidental break in his rhythm, and he smiles even wider and laughs into the microphone, “I’m sorry, I’m a bit emotional,” with a humorous spin and the crowd is laughing – thank god, they’re laughing. “I would like to thank the living legend, the inspiration himself,” and he turns that smile to Bruce, lets the genuine flip in his heart reveal some of his gratitude, “Bruce Wayne.”

Bruce nods appreciatively, and even claps his hands in good humor as the crowd approves once more.

“I could not have done this without you,” for a moment his smile falls, a single second of seriousness before he puts his smile back on. Turns back up the charm and finishes his statement to the crowd, “We could not have done this without your support.”

The audience erupts with cheering and polite applause. Bruce and Dick exchange a mutual smile, one of those moments that’s good for the press as Bruce puts his arm around Dick’s shoulders. Keep smiling, don’t stop smiling – as camera lights start to flash and reporters rush toward them with notepads and recorders, some with small video cameras. Looking for the next big quote, looking for their headlines.

Keep smiling, keep smiling. Keeping playing.

 

The next morning, a small box on the top of the newspaper reads, _Prodigal Wayne Recognized for Gotham Business Association Award_.

“That’s interesting,” Dick says, in a quiet and hazy voice as he sits at the breakfast table, slowly finishing the slice of toast in his hand.

“What is,” Stephanie’s big eyes are staring almost too intensely, but her smirk is playful and considerate.

His eyes are scanning the page, and when he elaborates his voice is seeming a bit tired, “First time I’ve been called _quiet_ and _reserved,”_ but he nearly laughs.

“Can’t always be on,” she grins. “No one’s always at 100%, right.”

“But I do my best,” he says. There’s an odd seriousness to that, but he doesn’t acknowledge it.

Footsteps down the hall and their conversation is interrupted by the rustling of someone’s raincoat and boots settling by the door. Dick glances over, knowing who it is but feigning surprise in his tone. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” Tim seems like he’s in a rush, but it’s likely just his annoyance. He’s covered in rainwater from head to toe, and shakes his head in an almost instinctive reflex.  Runs his hand through wet hair and then clumsily uses that same hand to attempt to wipe his face dry.

“What happened,” Steph almost giggles with amusement.

“Gotham,” Tim says in a dramatically low voice. Imitates Bruce’s stare and Dick hides a laugh behind his hand. The shaking of his shoulders gives it away.

“Fighting the good fight,” Steph says, almost adoringly.

“It’s shitty out there,” Tim says swiftly, but he catches what he said and almost sends an apologetic look at Dick.

Dick shakes his head with a subtle grin, “Language,” as he dusts some of the crumbs off his hands with a napkin.

“I’m an adult,” Tim pouts at him.

“Did you find everything,” Dick asks politely, letting his grin fade naturally. 

“Yeah, thank god. I’m not going back out there anytime soon,” Tim smirks. He pauses, and after a moment of thought, “Did you make coffee?”

“Yeah,” Stephanie nods.

“Awesome,” Tim says with genuine relief. Finally picks up the bags he dragged in, brown paper bags nearly shredded at their handles from the rain. Hurries into the adjacent dining room and clumsily sets them onto the counter before the contents break and fall through. Starts rummaging through them.

Stephanie is smirking at something else she notices in the paper, taking a slow sip from her coffee mug. She squints at the photograph of Dick and Bruce, taken as they addressed the crowd. “It’s so creepy when he smiles like that.”

Dick glances over. “Mm,” he acknowledges, and for a moment he seems unsure of what to say. He almost frowns, as if noticing something. But he says nothing.

“Any word from the big guy yet,” Tim asks, glancing over his shoulder as he shuffles things around, tossing a few of them into the fridge.

“Still comatose,” Dick says quietly.

Steph looks at him questionably, raising an eyebrow.

“I called,” Dick clarifies. “Alfred said he’s down for the count. A bit too much drinking at the after party,” with a faint grin.

Stephanie smirks at his tone.

“Well, whatever,” Tim sighs.

“Got a few others still coming, at least,” Steph says cheerily.

“Yeah,” Tim says, but his tone is almost disgruntled. “I guess that’s fine.”

“He likes to be fashionably late,” Dick says.

Tim shrugs, “Yeah, I know,” but his tone isn’t masking his disappointment well. “But we don’t host a lot of these get-togethers.”

Steph pouts at him, and then makes the same face at Dick, as if motioning for him to say something encouraging.

Dick doesn’t have much to offer. He initially draws a blank, eyes a bit bewildered as he stares back at her. But words begin to settle and he almost laughs when he something occurs to him. “If it makes you feel better… for a few years he forgot when my _birthday_ was.”

Steph laughs.

“He did not,” Tim immediately whines in denial.

“He absolutely did,” and Dick grins wide. “He gave me my presents several weeks early, for maybe, like three years in a row.”

Steph cackles, “I believe it.”

Tim shakes his head, “I’m sure he had a reason.”

“Yeah,” Dick says. “Shitty priorities.”

Steph’s eyes grow wide at his choice of words.

Tim turns around and gives him an exaggerated, disapproving look.

Dick smiles at him.

 

Dick’s laughter is warm and almost tired, and he’s lounging across the bench as Steph is nudging it, making it sway with her foot as she sits in a nearby chair. The rain hammers hard above them, hitting on the roof that covers the porch and Dick’s eyes are heavy. “Don’t tell him you said that,” he murmurs.

Steph almost guffaws, “As if.”

A few other faces did join them, as promised. Still no Bruce, but Barbara arrived solo – despite initially promising to bring the new person she was seeing – and Jason strolled by sometime later, accompanied with a somewhat disoriented Cass, who had clearly never been to this new place.

But they keep each other entertained well enough as Jason’s doing serious damage to the spaghetti Tim cooked up – grilled burgers had been the initial plan, but the rain refused to cooperate – and Cass is carrying on a slightly bewildering conversation with Tim, who seems to pause every few minutes to stare incredulously. Must be one heck of a story.

Babs has been somewhat quiet, but she chooses to take the opportunity to catch up with Dick since they haven’t seen each other in a while. She joins him and Steph and opens the conversation with a, “So how have you been,” and she adds with some humor, “Mister Award Winner.”

“Grand,” he says, with a smirk.

“That bad, huh,” she says with some exaggerated sympathy.

“It’s horrible,” he almost chuckles. “They don’t tell you how many meetings are involved. Hideous, boring meetings. Hours and hours of meetings.”

“I bet you feel important,” she says.

“Sure,” he says.

“What’s even the point in all that,” Steph cuts in.

Babs smirks, and she’s about to respond when Dick picks up the slack.

“Makes the shareholders feel better,” he says. “And I just picked up a _lot_ of stock.”

“Oh, good,” Babs teases him, “I’m sure you’ve been struggling.”

Dick chuckles faintly, his chest rattling.

“Now you can finally buy groceries,” she says with good humor.

“Yeah,” he says, stifling a yawn behind his hand, “finally.”

Steph pauses in her gradual kicking of the swaying bench as she hears her name from across the porch. Glances towards her husband with a surprised grin, “Yes.”

Tim’s waving her over, likely to ask some pressing question and Steph’s looking confused as she rises from her chair and hurries over.

Dick leans up slightly, propping himself up on his elbows as he looks over to try and put the picture together, but his expression just reads of blank confusion.

“Hey,” Bab’s surprisingly quiet, almost somber voice interrupts his curious moment.

“Yeah,” he looks back at her.

“You alright,” Babs asks, wheeling herself a bit closer.

When he instinctively responds, “Yeah,” she gives him an immediate frown.

“You seem… a bit out of it,” she says. “Like you’re not really here.”

“What,” and he puts on a slight grin. But she’s seen it before.

“Yeah, exactly,” she stares with more scrutiny.

“Come on,” and he almost pouts.

“You think I can’t tell,” she cuts right to it, “you think no one gets it, but I know you. You’re acting.”

He quits carrying the smile, but he tries to avoid turning too serious. “You worry too much.”

“Someone should,” she says faintly.

He shallows air and his throat feels tight. Something about the way she said that.

“I’m fine,” he says. “I’m not great, but I’m not bad either.”

“You’re sure,” she says, staring him down, eyes just above the edge of her glasses.

“Yeah,” he says. “Just a bit of stress. You know, the,” and he tilts his head contemplatively, “those annoying ceremonies… all those fuckin’ meetings…”

She smirks at him.

“I might lose my mind,” he ends it with a slight upturn of his lips.

“I feel like you just lied to me.”

He meets her eyes, but isn’t sure how to respond beyond giving a hesitant grin.

“But if you need anything,” she says with a faint smirk. “You know I’m here.”

He looks at her, directly. Nods, “Thanks. You know, I appreciate-”

He’s interrupted by a sudden opening of the door behind them. He shouldn’t be surprised, but somehow it catches him off-guard. A familiar gruff voice of acknowledgement and Jason’s calling from across the porch, “Someone felt like gracing us with his presence.”

“Good evening,” Bruce is calm and cool. Always so cool.

“You’re alive,” Steph greets him with genuine enthusiasm. She extends her arms in an awkward embrace, but she’s well-intentioned enough that he subtly returns it. “Long time no see,” she says.

“Glad you could make it,” Tim appears behind them as he smiles almost warily. He sheepishly adds, “Wasn’t sure you’d show.”

“Said I would,” Bruce says, as his eyes took a survey of the scene, as if to place where everyone is. When he catches sight of Babs and Dick, Babs smiles politely and nods, and Dick waves at him with one hand.

Bruce looks again at Tim, and tells him directly, “Happy anniversary,” handing him a small envelope.

“You didn’t get us another gift card, did you,” Tim teases.

“A vacation,” Bruce says.

“What,” and Tim hurries to open the envelope as Steph excitedly rushes up behind him. “R-really,” Tim stammers as Steph nearly claps her hands in anticipation.

Bruce – not being one for big moments, like the one that may follow this exchange – pats Tim on the shoulder and drifts over to Jason and Cass, as if to check in on them. Jason’s giving him a sideways smirk and some sass, but Bruce nods in affirmation and seems to respond as calm and collected as ever.

His voice is a low rumble to where Babs and Dick are, and Dick seems to lose interest in what’s going on as he lays back down. Props his feet up at the edge of the bench and closes his eyes, which suddenly seem unusually heavy.

Babs is giving him an intent look, but he doesn’t notice it; he’s already drifting out. “Guess you’re alright then,” she says quietly, but he doesn’t respond with words. Makes a subtle sound that almost attempts to be a word, but instead is an affirmative murmur as his eyes don’t seem to want to open again.

The rain’s finally quieting down.

 

The porch is increasingly quiet as the evening winds on, with Tim and Bruce shooting the breeze as the moon appears through the thinning clouds, hovering over the distant towers. Their conversation is comfortable and it’s one of those rare moments when there’s so little stress between them. The more Tim removed himself from Wayne Corp, the happier he’s been; the easier they communicate. Bruce doesn’t hold it against him. He understands.

The last hour wraps up with Tim asking Bruce, “Should we call a cab,” with a look towards Dick, who’s been well beyond comatose for a while.

“I’ll take him,” Bruce says.

Steph stands behind them with an amused grin, looking on as Bruce leans over Dick and attempts to stir him awake with a nudge against his shoulder. “Sleeping beauty,” she says.

But that nudge wasn’t enough, and it’s not until Bruce says his name that Dick opens his eyes. Warily at first, and then surprised, as he stares up at him. “Hi,” Dick says in a small voice.

“We’re going home,” Bruce says, and his voice feels like he’s already there.

Dick finds the energy to sit up, but his words are clumsy and still half-dazed, “Ah, I’m sorry, Timmy.”

“It’s alright,” with a kind half-smile.

“Happy,” and he almost trails off, “Happy annivers… ry.”

Steph giggles behind tightly sealed lips, as Bruce takes the initiative to help Dick navigate his way off the bench. There’s almost an incident where Dick stumbles and leans forward—much to Jason’s amusement, as he looks on at the curious scene—but he’s able to shake it off enough to remain upright as he gives a disoriented wave goodbye. One hand on Bruce’s shoulder to steady himself as he seems unable to shake his half-asleep stupor.

“Cute,” Steph says, once the two of them are out of view.

“Huh,” Tim doesn’t really see why.

 

Bruce is driving, and the vehicle is achingly quiet. Dick tries to stay awake, but his eyes are half-lidded and the more he stares into the endless landscape of darkness and drifting lights, the harder the fight gets. Bruce says something to him, but he’s barely listening. He makes a faint sound, “mm,” and he’s distant, miles away into that horizon as he leans back into the seat.

“Are you alright,” there’s something about those words that brings him back.

“’m fine,” he nearly drawls. “Tired.”

“You should take the morning off,” Bruce says. “Tomorrow.”

“Nah, it’s alright,” Dick almost whispers, his voice has so little force. “I have work to do.”

“I’ll handle it,” Bruce says.

“Nah, I‘m fine,” and he turns towards him, just slightly. Attempts to establish a mutual look, to send an encouraging expression.

But he’s surprised when he looks at Bruce, and isn’t met with an acknowledgement. Bruce’s eyes are fixated on the road, his expression focused and serious.

It dawns on Dick, with a familiar sinking feeling. Bruce wasn’t asking him; he was telling.

Dick gives a faint sigh, a slow exhale in some minor disbelief – but he’s not terribly surprised, not really – and faces forward again. Leans back into the chair and gets more comfortable, because the drive to the manor is still a bit far.

His eyes are closing again, but before he fades out again he manages, “Don’t worry. Just tired.” He even grins a little, “Haven’t slept for two days.”

Bruce says nothing. Keeps his eyes staring forward, until a red traffic light brings him to a stop. Takes a glance at Dick, who’s out of commission again. Frowns to himself and turns his attention back to the road when the light changes.

Two days. That concerns him, because he’s asked Dick about this sort of issue before.

Each time, he lies. Take his answer, add another day or two. He’ll smile and lie through his teeth to keep the peace. To make him proud.

_I promised you I wouldn’t._

It hasn’t left his mind.

 

He drifts in and out of sleep. Face pressed against the sheets, and they carry a familiar scent that helps him find peace. Detergent. The same kind this house has used for years, because Bruce is a creature of habit. He doesn’t like change, so things like the sheets, this bed, the curtains bathing this room in darkness; these things remained the same for all these years.

There’s a memory on the edge of his mind. This familiar scent, the same scent his pillow carried when he’d bury his face in it. When he’d wrap himself in blankets completely pressed over his face as an angry teenager, and before that a frightened child. Curls into himself and inhales that scent, shivering.

The room is musty. Humidity in the walls, from the warmth and the rain.

Bruce’s heaving breathing is a slow, rhythmic hum. He’s become accustomed to that sound. It resonates in his heart, in his mind, in his body now.

When he was young, chasing Bruce for so many years, longing to never leave his shadow. He learned to walk lightly, over creaky floorboards and through empty halls that echoed any sound. He learned to sneak around without being heard, and so often, he’d arrive at this room on the nights when he couldn’t sleep. He was never brave enough to step inside, but Bruce’s breathing was sometimes so heavy he could hear it from the other side of the door. And he’d sit and lean against that door, taking solace in that sound, the low and endless rhythm.

Monotonous and calming, like the persistent drumming of the rain against the roof right now.

The days of exhaustion are catching up with him, and he’s almost too tired to sleep. He feels too far gone. Too worn out and down to relax; he’s fragile and his heart is so heavy.

Many words on his mind, but none of them are coming out. He fluffs his pillow slightly and trails a hand across Bruce’s back as he leans in towards him. Focuses on his slow breathing and his warmth and when Bruce stirs slightly—just enough to acknowledge that he’s there, he’s aware of his presence—it helps to soothe his stress. Just a bit.

 

The dreams he hates the most are the pleasant ones. The quiet ones. The few he wants to sink inside of, to dwell in their warmth and never leave again.

It’s a morning when the rooms are full of bright sunlight, and birds are chirping through the open windows. It doesn’t matter who else is here, but it always feels like there are so many others around; people he loves, people he cares about. They’re here, in this house. He hears familiar voices down the hall, kind and generous.

He’s looking down, far down that familiar hallway, illuminated like an endless path of light. Taking those light footsteps, steps that make no sound, just the way he learned them. Precise and graceful, cautious but the genuine happiness is that it doesn’t matter. Wouldn’t matter if he made all the sound he wanted, wouldn’t matter if he hit the walls and thundered through this house, because no one in that room – no one anywhere in this place – would be disappointed to hear him, to see him, to know he was there.

They won’t be angry. They won’t frown. They won’t gossip, or talk. They won’t say a word of disapproval.

He never knows how he’s so certain; but it’s a feeling he gets, something that starts deep in his chest and spreads. A realization. A sensation of extraordinary comfort, like he could do whatever he wanted, because they are informed, they are aware. Of everything.

He takes those steps down that grand hallway and there’s someone behind him, with a low, rumbling laugh. A quiet and warm sound that warms him to his bones. Strong arms around his waist and hands that clasp together over his chest; pulls him close and it’s the heat of that body against his back, the subtle tease of the man’s breathing as he laughs against the back of his neck.

The gentle press of a kiss just above his shoulders. He’ll say something kind, something faint that’s telling of good news. And in the next room, just beyond them, familiar laughter. Warm voices calling for him, telling him to join them, they’ve been waiting.

It always ends the same way. He’s holding the hand of the man he loves more than anything, and they walk into that brilliant room together, light everywhere and joyous faces and warm embraces with the people that love him. They’re not disappointed, or worried, or confused, or upset.

Nothing but love. Love, everywhere.

He wakes up.

Eyes swollen and the rain – that horrible rain – is still hitting against the window, heavy sheets of it pouring down. He rubs at his face with aching hands and he clears his tense throat and realizes he must’ve been crying.

Hopes he never makes a sound, at least. Wouldn’t want Bruce to worry.

 

“We are very excited for the future of Wayne Corporation,” his voice is smooth and effortless, even despite the static of the radio signal. “I feel like,” and the faint hint of a nervous laugh – but there’s no need for the anxiety, he’s doing great – “it’s only a matter of time before we reveal what Wayne Corp is genuinely capable of.”

The landscape is a blur of buildings and vehicles and flashes of sunlight between the shadows cast by the highest of the towers as Bruce sits in the back of his limo and studies his notes. Keeps the radio turned up as he compares what Dick is saying to what he wrote down from the meeting.

“I understand that it’s tempting to believe we’re more hype than accomplishment, or more press than substance.” Good. “And many critics want you to feel that way, Leonard,” and this time a more genuine and quiet laugh. “But when you look at the data, when you break down our work to strengthen the police department while holding them more accountable, our work to rebuild the struggling education system, the proposals we’re backing for employee healthcare, the funding we’re pouring into research for hydro technology, the projects we’re supporting across Gotham to strengthen its infrastructure… I don’t understand how anyone can believe we’re just resting on our laurels.”

He’s good. But his delivery could use more polish. More of a kick. Bruce writes a note about that in the margins.

“I agreed to this position because I genuinely believe in the future of Wayne Corp,” and there’s something in the way he says those words that gives Bruce pause. Something sentimental in his delivery as he continues on. “I genuinely believe in the direction Bruce Wayne has been guiding us towards, and my strongest goal is to fulfill not only his vision, but down the line, the evolution of his ideals.”

Leonard is a skeptic. “Let’s talk real data. Let’s get to the bottom line, with realistically quantifiable data.”

“Realistically,” and Bruce smirks as he recognizes the sound of Dick’s more natural laugh, however subtle it is. “You’re asking me to discuss realistic, comprehensive data in a twenty minute interview?”

Cheeky. But smart.

Dick doesn’t know the exact numbers, but he’s damn good at dodging his blind spots.

“My goal here today is to get everybody on the same page with us. All of these plans have pages of data, years of research behind them. I’ll tell you what, if you have specific questions about any of our projects, choose one to throw at me in the few minutes we have left, or drop me an line and I’ll address it in full, in our next press brief.”

Bold.

Leonard’s response is not as suave, but that’s hardly surprising. No one is as suave as a Wayne. “Well, specifically, I think the biggest obstacle is your latest stumbling block with hydro technology. I know we’re running low on time here, but I’d hate to feel like I hadn’t pressed you on the biggest issue hitting the headlines right now.”

“We had a certain machine malfunction,” Dick laughs, and it sounds warm. It’s on-point, and fortunate; this is a subject he’s well-versed in. “Let me update you on the current situation, Leonard.”

Bruce listens a bit less intently to those final minutes. Reviews his notes and checks the time on his watch. He’ll be there soon. The next meeting, and then back to the office to gradually wind down his afternoon.

Dick is closing his interview with an invitation to speak further with Leonard at another time. A courteous and polite close.

Bruce had told him once: “You are more valuable than them. Use that power to your advantage. You are the guest of honor. In our world, it’s never the other way around.”

He’s proud that Dick remembers that, and integrates it wisely. He’s proud of many things. Many more than he’s said. He makes another note about that in the margins of the page, a single word to remind him later: Encouragement. Circles it.

 

Dick barely has time to recollect himself before he’s whisked off to a different kind of interview. A magazine has requested his presence; he’s been turning down quite a few requests lately, but this is a key demographic. It’s not a business circular. It’s cool, it’s trendy. It’s great press to land if he wants to paint himself as more of an approachable person than his stoic and serious predecessor.

It was Bruce’s suggestion. Especially before he announces his time off; he’ll need the good press to carry him through the unexpected hiatus. “Your personality is a marketing advantage,” Bruce said.

The downside to a more hip, less business-minded press is that they have more interest in less predictable, cut and dry questions. He’s pretty comfortable with the first few. He talks about his experience climbing the ladder, but in succinct terms. He talks about how much he enjoys meeting new people, and how excited he is to redefine and update the image of Wayne Corp for a new generation; “my generation,” he clarifies. He tells the very polite interviewer about how challenging it can be to bridge the generational gap, but how important it is for a company to adjust to the changing world. He wants to make sure Wayne Corp isn’t ever stuck in the mud, a relic of its own history.

It sounds very smart; very professional, exactly how he intended. But being a non-business paper, her questions start to divert away from business. Away from the ground he finds so familiar.

“Forgive me if I’m overstepping a boundary here,” and she laughs with genuine mirth, almost too shy to ask her own question. It’s more endearing than worrisome, and Dick smiles in return. “But I happened to notice… as did many people, I’m sure,” and she even suppresses a nervous giggle, “that you’re a very handsome young man. You are quite an attractive new face for this company.”

He makes sure that his laugh is encouraging, with a subtle touch of humility. “Thank you.”

“Bruce Wayne is this image of old style cool, very professional, almost intimidating. I remember thinking, ‘there’s no way I can get that guy to sit down with me.’ I felt like my little publication here wasn’t serious enough for him.”

“Right, I get you,” Dick keeps his smile wide, and nods.

“But you’re so approachable. You’re young, you’re charming, you’re _gorgeous_.”

Dick nods again, laughing more faintly.

“I have to wonder how you keep all of that in perspective.”

Dick gives a brief look of confusion, but he keeps it subtle and courteous.

She clarifies, “You’re the heir of an empire. You’ve been given the keys to one of the biggest companies in the world.”

Dick nods, but his eyes are turning serious. Contemplative as he starts putting the right words together.

“But at the end of the day, you seem like such a kind, ordinary person. How do you keep your personal life – relationships, friends, family…”

“Right-”

“How do you keep that balanced with being the literal new face of a massive, powerful entity like Wayne Corp?”

He opens his mouth, but there aren’t any words yet. He almost smirks as he instead bites his lip.

She catches his moment of hesitation, and her eyes widen as she almost smiles and waits for his response.

Gradually, he lets his lip go and says, “Well.”

“Well,” she asks and almost laughs again. “Did I ask a bad question?”

“No, no,” he reassures her. “Just um…” he grins widely, “Please edit this response to sound better.”

She laughs.

“To be honest with you, I… I’ve been involved with Wayne Corp for… almost my entire life. I grew up in this, supposed empire. I’ve always lived in this world. There’s never been a day when I wasn’t somehow involved in the bigger picture. I see how it may seem like an increasingly big responsibility is being hoisted on me, but it’s a natural evolution in everything I’ve been doing up to this point.”

“Right,” she nods.

“You know, a lot of people throw big parties for their 25th birthday,” he grins, “Instead, I went to a business party and got to talk about the company, and stock news, the new forecast. You know it’s,” and he lets his amused expression linger, “just another day in the life of a Wayne.”

“It’s almost like you live in a different world than the rest of us,” she says with a subtle smile.

“Yeah,” he laughs faintly. “You could say that.” He clarifies, “But I like to think I’m still… very well-connected to everybody else. That’s important to me. I don’t ever wanna lose my perspective of how everyone lives, of their struggles and dreams for Gotham. I mean, it’s my city too. I care deeply about it, and everyone that lives here.”

“Right,” she nods again. But her expression is almost hesitant, and when she adds another question he immediately sees why. She wants heavier content. The meat. “How do you reconcile personal relationships?”

“How personal do you mean,” he grins widely and his joke works to lighten the mood.

She almost giggles. “You’re young, you’re beautiful, you’re successful… Is there a miss Grayson? Do you have a solid network of friends? Do you go home as the _heir of Wayne Corp_ or are you a different person in your downtime?”

He nods, listening. Thinking. He exhales faintly, and it almost sounds nervous but he keeps his smile on.

“I asked our readers what they _really_ want to know,” she elaborates, and Dick nods good-naturedly. “And the overwhelming response is that they want to know more about the human behind the image.”

“Right.”

“However much you’re comfortable revealing, of course.”

He lets her words settle for a moment. When he speaks, his eyes are focused and he keeps his statement as succinct as possible. “I’m just trying to be the best person I can. Of course I try to be… balanced, to stay happy, to make sure that I have a life outside of the company. I treasure my family, I treasure my friends. They are… extremely important to me. I don’t know where I’d be without them. I definitely would not be the same person, and I need them just as much as anyone else needs that support system.”

“But is there a miss Grayson,” she almost slaps her knee with an endearing but immature impatience.

He bites his lip again, and lets it go as he feigns a smile that he’s hoping looks genuine. Shakes his head slowly, “Tell you the truth, it’s hard to meet new people.”

“Ah,” she says with some insight.

“I have a big network of friends, but it’s difficult to find time to really connect with somebody. It’s… difficult to strike that balance between a very demanding job, and a close relationship where you give so much of yourself and really devote yourself to another person.” He nods, but it’s more to himself than her. “I have confidence that eventually I’ll reconcile it,” he ends with a small grin.

“You almost say that like you already have someone in mind,” she says wistfully.

“What,” but he laughs to distract from his nervousness.

“You make it sound so romantic,” she smiles, almost blushing. She laughs faintly, and teases, “I almost feel like you’re being a gentleman and not releasing a certain somebody’s name.”

“I don’t kiss and tell,” he smirks.

She giggles at that and says coyly, “Now _that_ is a juicy tidbit.”

He shrugs with a wide smile, “Gotta keep a touch of mystery in there.”

She smiles, “I won’t grill you on it, but I’ve gotta use that for the headline.”

He laughs.

 

“The magazine interview went well,” Bruce’s voice on the line, asking in his usual straight to the point manner.

“Yeah, it was… interesting,” Dick says, as he tugs his tie loose with his free hand. Sits on the bed in their vast bedroom with the orange sun setting through the blinds and he starts to finally feel his bones settling.

“In a good or bad way,” Bruce asks for clarity.

Dick keeps his tone light, “No it was fine, it just… she treated me differently than I’m used to.” He almost laughs, “She seemed kind of… enamored with me. Something about how I’m handsome, and my image is different and more relatable.”

“Good,” Bruce says.

“I guess,” but he does smirk about it. “Felt kinda weird.” He pauses, then adds, “I’m not sure I like being asked about my personal life.”

“Don’t give too many details,” Bruce says swiftly.

“I didn’t,” he says. “I kept it vague.”

“Smart.”

“Yeah,” he adds cheekily, “I know better than to reveal too much.” There’s something serious behind those words, but he chooses not to dwell on it.

Thankfully, Bruce doesn’t either.

Dick hits the speaker phone button, and sets down his phone as he starts unbuttoning his shirt. Keeps listening as Bruce shifts the subject.

“I listened to the radio interview.”

“Oh?” Dick asks with some amusement. “How’d I do. What’s my score.”

“Good,” Bruce says.

“Really.” Skeptical eyes and raised eyebrows.

“There’s room for improvement, but we’ll discuss that later. I have notes we can go over.”

“Of course,” he grins at that. It’s so typical of Bruce.

“I’ll update you on the issues you’re less informed about. To make sure you’re not caught off-guard.”

“Yeah,” as he reaches the final button and lets his shirt fall open. “But you know… I’m bound to make a mistake sometime.”

“We’ll minimize the chance of that happening.”

He almost laughs. “I’ll do my best.”

There’s a short pause, and it’s almost curious how many seconds it lingers for. Bruce isn’t one to allow silence to sit on the line. He usually knows exactly what to say when he initiates the conversation.

But the silence lingers, for long enough for Dick’s mind to start wandering before Bruce brings him back.

“We’ll discuss this more later.”

“Right…”

“I’ll be home in a few hours,” and the line goes silent.

Dick frowns and looks at his phone, almost in disbelief. “Yeah, see ya,” he says with obvious sarcasm.

Dick stifles a sigh and digs his hands into the sheets of the bed to exert some frustration. Almost eats his words, but chooses to let them linger in the silence of the room. He wants to hear them. Needs to hear them.

“You too.”

Claws his fingers into the sheets and says bitterly, “I love you too.”

 

“Are you okay,” intent eyes on him, and the concern would feel reassuring if he hadn’t been hearing that question so often lately.

He nods. A light breeze stirs his hair and a couple is passing by on the street, walking past them with shopping bags and idle conversation about a friend of theirs. From where they sit at a small table, in the patio area of a quaint café the city is almost unusually quiet right now.

He’s taking at least half a day off, because Bruce asked him. Well, because Bruce instructed him to. Again. It’s been happening more often. They’ll exchange a look—Dick might cringe a little because he knows it’s coming, that understated concern in his voice—and Bruce will make the suggestion as if it’s something he briefly considered.

Dick knows better. He’s gradually giving him more time off. He’s trying to ease him away from doing so much work. It’s a considerate gesture. But Dick’s not entirely comfortable with allowing Bruce to micromanage his time.

He understands the mechanics of Bruce’s mind, but lately he’s feeling less patience for it. More brittle. More easily agitated by the cold nature he’d usually find familiar, comforting. Not long ago, he could settle in that silence and coldness and feel safe in the knowledge that Bruce loved him, that Bruce cared in his own way.

But even though he believes that, deep down, he feels less safe, less secure lately. It’s an unnerving sensation under his skin, like something’s slowly tightening in his chest.

“I’m fine,” he says.

But Wally doesn’t buy it, and he makes a slight face as he idly scratches his arm. Leans over the table to close the distance between them—just slightly—and his eyes are so bright and kind as he says in a quieter voice, “You know you can talk to me, right.” He pauses, “about… that,” and he glances down briefly, for emphasis. “Anything.”

“Yeah,” Dick smirks at him. “That,” and he mimics Wally’s downward glance, “Is fine.” He nods, “It’s everything else that’s… frustrating.”

“Bruce,” Wally says, immediately.

Dick almost laughs, “Come on. Don’t just say that.”

“It’s always him,” Wally says.

“Really,” but it’s an honest question.

“Literally every time you’re upset.”

“I’m not upset,” Dick averts his eyes, as if distracted by something in the distance.

“You’re totally upset,” Wally says. “Okay,” and he eats a few of his words, “Maybe not _upset_ but… frustrated.”

Dick looks at him, his surprise evident.

“You’re basically rattling.”

“Rattling,” he frowns.

“You’re shaking,” Wally says.

“Really.”

“You’ve been shaking since we sat down.”

“Ugh,” Dick makes a faint sound, pressing a hand to his forehead. Smoothes his fingers flat and sighs. “I don’t know what to do.”

Wally tilts his head.

“I’m in too deep.”

“Deep in what,” Wally says.

“Wayne Corp.”

Wally noticeably rolls his eyes.

“Bruce Wayne,” Dick massages his temple and slowly buries his face in his hand. “And his prodigal son. An heir to the empire.”

“Empire,” Wally repeats with some quiet humor.

“I’m tired of lying.”

He takes a deep breath, in that heavy silence as Wally stares at him, unable to completely connect what he’s saying. Dick’s fingers trail, running through his hair as he stares down at the table.

When he speaks, his voice is a whisper that almost breaks. “But I can’t do that to him.”

“Do what,” Wally asks, gently.

Dick feels a shiver run through him, and he knows it’s apparent to Wally as well. Hopes it’s not too startling. “It would ruin him.”

Wally gives a slow sigh. Blinks slowly, his posture tensing.

“It would…” and he almost forces it out, “ruin his credibility.” He lifts his head and stares at Wally, dead in the face and repeats for emphasis, “I cannot do that to him.”

Wally’s lips tense into a straight line.

“We built our lies so well,” Dick bites his lip and his eyes are heavy, emotion welling behind them. “We built a lie that everyone believes, and we’ve got to live with it.” Shakes his head, “I’m his son and he’s…” he’s shaking again. “He’s my,” but the word is lost as he covers his mouth with his hands and stifles an ambiguous sound.

Wally’s hand on his arm and that comforting touch trails down to his hands. Dick is shaking and trying not to let his emotions overtake him, and Wally’s holding his hand, delicately, gently, massaging his fingers and scrambling, thinking as quickly as he can for the right words.

“Hey,” he says, “but you know the truth, right?”

Dick attempts to nod, but his throat is tight when he tries to speak.

“You know what he really is to you, right.”

Dick nods, but he’s still shaking.

“Hey,” Wally is trying, but he’s not sure what to say. He doesn’t want to give Dick some false reassurance, because he’d see through it. Whatever he says has to be genuine, but there’s only so much he can offer. “I mean, you’re taking a step back from all that, right?”

“A step back from what,” his throat aches and the words feel bitter. Sour. “From my career.”

“From work, from Wayne Corp,” he offers. “You’re scaling it back, right.”

Dick inhales sharp and exhales slowly.

“You’re gradually taking time off, and when you’re ready, you can take a quiet sick leave and do what you have to.”

Dick shakes his head.

“You can take time off, focus on yourself for a bit, unwind-”

“It’s not like that,” Dick says.

“Huh?”

“That’s not how it works,” he says.

“Why- What do you mean,” and even in his confusion, he holds Dick’s hand even tighter, hoping it’ll help.

“I mean,” and Dick smiles gently when he notices what Wally is doing, because he’s so sweet, he’s so kind. “I live my life in the spotlight. Everywhere I go, everything I do. I can’t… take a vacation and fall off the radar. I can’t disappear.”

Wally acknowledges that with a firm nod.

“I can’t just go away and come back when this is over.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” Wally says quietly.

Dick smirks, but there’s no humor in it.

“I won’t tell you what to do, but…” he shrugs, “it’s your life. It’s important. It’s important that you’re happy, that you’re… focusing on your own family.”

Dick wears a subtle smile, but his eyes betray a sense of defeat, of resignation. “Yeah.”

“I just feel like you’re getting too stressed,” Wally says. Leans back into his chair and idly stretches, “I feel like you’re way too worried about this. About things that aren’t… things that aren’t your problem.”

But Dick’s response isn’t what Wally expects. He gives him a sharp look, and for the first time in a while his voice is bordering on sarcastic. A rough tone, to aim against his dear friend. “What’s not my problem.”

“This,” and he pauses to clarify, “Bruce.”

Dick frowns.

“It’s his life,” Wally says. “It’s his press. It’s his company, his headlines, his buzz,” and he pulls his hand back, waving both hands in the air as he speaks with them. “What the public thinks of him? That’s his concern. You have to focus on you, and… _your_ concern, if you know what I mean.”

Dick shakes his head.

“And you don’t agree.”

Dick averts his eyes. “Everything of his is my concern.”

That makes Wally shake. Once.

Dick clarifies, “I share his role in the company. I share his press. I share his… _buzz_ ,” and he almost grins with a strangely rough, sharp curve of his lips that reminds Wally of someone else. Reminds him of a certain someone with an affinity for sharp expressions and he’s a bit surprised to see that communicated through Dick’s kind, soft features. “I share his life,” he says. Swallows hard and nods, “What people think of him is a big concern for me.”

Wally gives him a long look. “You,” and he closes his eyes for a moment as he searches for the right words. “Don’t you want to give him any of this responsibility?”

Dick’s confusion is a welcome sign. It softens his expression, back to a person Wally recognizes.

“Dick,” and Wally leans forward, closing a lot of space between them because he knows how personal, how private of a person he is. When he finishes his question, it’s quiet and delicate. “Shouldn’t he be the one worrying, at least a little, about your life together?”

Dick shrugs, but it’s slow and pained. His face is tensing again. “I’m sure he does.”

Their server appears. Asks them if they’re doing well. Wally nods and dismisses her with a polite smile, and Dick uses the welcome moment of quiet to regain his composure. Puts the neutral expression back on his face, because it wouldn’t do for too many people to see him like this.

“I’m not saying you have to delegate everything to him,” Wally says. “And if you wanna keep some secrets, that’s fine.” He taps his fingers against the table, a quick drum against the surface. “But you can’t carry all of the stress.”

“I know-”

“You physically _can’t_.”

That gives him pause.

“Remember why I asked about _that,_ ” Wally gestures again, briefly, subtly. “Because you need to be careful. You need to take care of yourself.”

Dick almost nods, but it communicates as a thoughtful stare, too slight, too tense.

“You know I’m here for you,” he says, leaning close again. “You’re sharing your life with him? Then you have got to let him in. If he knew how much this was bothering you-”

Dick immediately protests, “I don’t want to-”

“He has to know,” he spells it out slowly, palms pressed against the edge of the table. “He’s obviously worried about you. He’s trying to look out for you. He has to know how he can help you.”

“Right.”

“You know I don’t like giving you orders. I’ll never tell you what to do,” he shrugs. “But I’m your friend and I’m honestly a little worried.”

Dick nods.

“I mean it’s been what… three weeks since you found out.”

That gives Dick a fair amount of pause. “…Yeah. About.”

“You’re already this wound up. How are you gonna be when it’s… closer?”

“Hopefully someplace far away,” he says.

“ _Dick_.”

“Far away from everybody,” and he slides back into his chair, a slow sigh of resignation as his entire body sinks downward.

“Please let us help you.”

Dick smirks. He speaks faintly. “With what.”

“Support,” he suggests. “Emotional reassurance?”

“Don’t need it,” he says dryly.

“What _do_ you need, then.”

He whispers, “Honestly.” His eyes slide as he glances out into the distance, but Wally recognizes that technique. He’s downplaying his emotion. “I’ve been staring down this same wall… since I found out.” He smiles, before he lets it fall away. “I appreciate your support but there is nothing you can do for me. It’s something he has to do, something I have to do… Something, I don’t know what, but something one of us has to do, that is going to be very painful.”

“Let me help you through that.”

He speaks quietly, “Won’t make it hurt less.”

“Are you sure.”

Dick smirks at him, but his tone betrays an almost delicate fragility. “I don’t know. I’ve never done this before.”

“Been scared?”

Dick almost laughs. “Yeah. I’m terrified.”

Wally reaches out, and nudges his arm. “Come here.”

“What,” Dick’s finally smiling. Genuinely.

“Come here,” Wally scoots his chair over.

Dick is making an embarrassed face, but he’s sliding into Wally’s embrace. Wally’s hand in his hair and his arm around his back and it’s the kind of thing that never stops feeling good, no matter what’s happening, or how deep of shit he’s in.

“You need to tell him what you just told me,” Wally says.

Dick closes his eyes and nods, “Yeah.”

“Let him help you.”

 

“The future of Wayne Corp has never been in brighter hands,” it’s the voice vibrating through the television, a quiet hum drifting out the open window as he crawls past it.

Body pressed against the wall, wind sweeping past his face, and he stands still to look ahead and plan his landing. “I am especially optimistic about this, so-called prodigal son,” and his eyes look to the roof of the building some feet away, then to the narrow ledge he’s standing on, and back to that rooftop. “I genuinely believe he has what it takes,” and he makes the great leap as the words fade behind him, “to turn this company around.”

Arrives with a bit less of a smooth landing than he wanted, but he doesn’t have time to pause and reflect on it. He’s running down the rooftop, eyes glancing ahead at the next one coming up, charting the easiest course to reach it. Normally he’s not one to play it safe, but he’s making more of an effort. He’s trying.

Three more rooftops and he’s there, and it’s a few swift minutes of racing and leaping and that almost exhilarating rush of being weightless just before he makes the final landing, lands in slow motion and feels the air current moving past him—almost through him—and it feels so much like the gravity bends to his will.

He’s smiling when his feet touch the ground, because he’s almost arrived. Takes a few more steps forward and he can hear a bit of a scuffle up ahead. He stifles his breathing, slowing it down so he can approach more cautiously. Light steps, the kind he’s so skillful at and he’s moving in the shadows, frowning to take in more of the scene that’s unfolding in the darkness up ahead.

The scuffle ends relatively quickly. Someone gives a yell of pain and it’s startling because that sounds like his target. It’s perplexing, and he’s almost anxious as he slowly approaches what is clearly a one-sided struggle. The target’s body drops and a chill runs up his spine, because that body isn’t getting back up anytime soon.

A figure masked in darkness, tall and broad. Turns to face him, but he didn’t make a sound, so how-

That figure in the shadows starts to move towards him, in slow, heavy steps without a single word. He takes a few steps back, but there’s nowhere to go. He’s already been seen. The shadow continues to drift closer; a slow, steady and ominous pace. Cloaked in darkness and there’s a suggestion of a cape that’s stirred when the wind picks up again. A cape and as the figure comes closer, two pointed ears at the top of his head, above a mask bathed in black.

Oh.

 _Shit_.

 

He’s hasn’t seen him this silent in months. That’s really saying something.

It’s strange being in the batcave when the night is still so young. He stifles a yawn in his hands as he sits in Bruce’s chair in front of the ominous monitors. Glances at the screens as only one of them is turned on, downloading a large file from the Gotham PD. Another batch of leads, no doubt.

Taps his fingers against his domino mask, because Bruce made him take it off. But he refused to strip out of the suit, so he’s almost sitting here in protest, watching Bruce shuffle around the room as he takes notes to close the case on the target Dick was tracking.

“Do you need my assistance,” Dick offers in a quiet, level voice.

Bruce doesn’t respond.

Dick rolls his eyes and turns his chair away, to look at the rest of the room. Lets his restless boredom show, just a bit.

“I have more leads where that came from,” he says.

“Send me your files,” Bruce says.

“Seriously,” Dick asks in a deadpan voice.

Bruce doesn’t respond.

Dick slumps into the chair and idly turns it back and forth, eyes roaming the cave as he’s looking for anything to catch his attention. Anything to amuse his mind with. A distraction of sorts.

He knows the backlash is coming. He’s just waiting.

Bruce was upset when he saw him there on the roof. He was furious. He almost used his real name; the sound was on the edge of his lips when he said they were leaving. Immediately, he said.

Bruce presses a hand flat against his desk. Stares at the surface of the table, at his paperwork and when he speaks, his voice is a low rumble and his posture is tightly wound. “Dick.”

“Bruce,” he says almost cheerfully, with a sarcastic tilt of his head.

“Why were you there.”

“Working,” Dick quips. He even adds, “What else would I be doing.”

“We talked about this.”

“Did we,” Dick nearly rolls his eyes.

Bruce breathes heavy. A silent sigh that Dick recognizes. He swallowed his words before he could say them. But his next words don’t die. “It’s careless.”

“Careless,” Dick frowns. “Who said anything about being careless.”

“You.”

Dick doesn’t realize he’s shaking until he attempts to shift into more upright posture and finds it difficult. Curls his fingers around his domino mask and grips it tight to ease some tension. “I said I’d be careful,” he says faintly. “I have been.”

Bruce says nothing.

His silence has a way of making Dick feel guilty. It’s the weight of it. “I didn’t tell you I was still working,” he offers. “That one’s on me. But it’s not a big deal.”

Bruce’s fingers begin to claw into the sheets of paper beneath his hand, slowly tearing the edges.

“I don’t put myself in harm’s way,” Dick says quietly. “I know what I’m doing. You know that.”

“Do I,” Bruce says.

“Huh,” Dick’s not sure how to respond. His eyes narrow. “You’ve never doubted me before.”

“You’ve never lied so blatantly to me.”

He tried to respond, but the words catch in his throat. Because he remembers. He remembers what he said.

“I asked if you still did your patrol,” and Bruce is slowly crushing the top sheet of paper in his hand. “I asked if the rumor was valid.”

“Too many rumors to keep track of,” Dick tries to deflect.

“You know _damn_ well which one.”

His tone stops Dick before he can say anything else.

Bruce turns to look at him, but Dick wishes he wouldn’t. He’s sinking into the chair, his eyes heavy as he just keeps shaking—god why is he always shaking.

Bruce stares at him. They exchange a look that communicates many things, but none of it is meaningful. None of it is what the other needs to hear, needs to see.

Dick’s voice is small and almost frightened, “I’m sorry.”

He’s not frightened of Bruce. He’s frightened of so many things, but never him. So many other things.

Like what this means for their relationship, right now.

Bruce tells him, “I’m going back on patrol.”

Dick can barely move, but he manages a nod.

“Do not follow me.” Bruce clarifies, to make sure there’s no ambiguity, “Stay here.”

Bruce turns his back on him, and Dick is closing his eyes.

Bruce ascends the staircase, into the vast and immense shadows and Dick still can’t stop shaking.

 

He stirs to the feeling of a familiar warmth, skin to skin contact. Even as he awakens from the depths of sleep, he recognizes the rough and scarred feel of Bruce’s skin, the familiar sensation of his arm sliding around his body, as he often does when he crawls into their bed.

But then he remembers what happened between them.

“Bruce,” he says, his voice rough from sleep.

“Mm,” a sound of acknowledgement. The arm moves slightly, and his hand travels just enough, enough to lightly ghost over his chest.

But Dick doesn’t know what to say.

“Dick,” it’s a question. Questioning the silence.

He still doesn’t have words. Not enough of them. Too many thoughts rushing to his mind. So instead he murmurs a, “nevermind,” and turns his face into his pillow in hopes that he can somehow ease himself back into unconsciousness before he says anything he’ll regret.

Bruce doesn’t challenge it. But his hand travels again, this time downwards just a bit. Just enough, to rest over his stomach. Dick almost doesn’t notice it, until Bruce’s fingers start to massage his slightly swollen stomach, almost with a bit of fondness.

Dick sighs, but it’s not unpleasant. Says the first coherent thought that comes to his mind. “Are you mad at me.”

Bruce’s fingers pause their motion, but he doesn’t move his hand away. Keeps it there and when he speaks, Dick can feel how close he is, his breath against the back of his neck. “I was.”

Dick expected no less. “I’m sorry.” He almost feels a pang of sadness, something not unlike despair, but he fights it back. “I’m sorry I lied to you. …But I love being out there. It’s so damn hard to quit.”

“Your work,” Bruce says.

“Yeah,” Dick says faintly. “I love my job.”

“You’ve been exceptionally tired,” Bruce says. How direct, how straight-forward he is; it’s surprising. “You can’t balance so much stress. These obligations. It concerns me.”

Dick sighs audibly, but he exhales with a smile and almost teases him. “What a kind thing to say.”

Bruce makes an inaudible sound as a response, pressing himself further against Dick’s back.

Dick doesn’t even try to shake the smile from his face. “You big softie. You worry too much,” He closes his eyes and places a hand over Bruce’s, appreciating where it still is, that he’s kept it pressed there.

Bruce doesn’t respond, but in that silence, his breathing is slowing down.

“I don’t want to disappoint you,” Dick says.

“No,” Bruce says.

“That’s not a yes or no question,” Dick teases.

“You haven’t,” Bruce says.

“Tonight I did,” Dick says.

“Mm,” a quiet sound of acknowledgement, followed by a word Dick can’t make out, a low rumble.

“What.”

“I was surprised,” Bruce says.

Dick grins slyly, “Is that what you’re calling it.”

“Dick.”

“Yes,” Dick cheekily asks.

“Be careful.”

“You already said that,” and he closes his eyes.

Another inaudible word.

“Honey, I can’t hear you,” Dick teases in a hazy, tired voice; but it’s tinged with warmth, with fondness.

But this time, Bruce almost struggles to voice it out loud. To say it again. “The baby.”

“What,” but it’s a faint whisper.

“Think of the baby,” he says.

Dick stifles his nervous sigh with a wide grin, but he feels the flush spread through his face. “Does it mean that much to you.” He phrases it as a joke, but it’s hollow and somber when it’s spoken out loud.

Bruce doesn’t have words for that. He finally moves his hand. Trails it up across his chest, and tugs him closer, their bodies pressed together in an almost uncomfortable heat. Shifts his posture and startles Dick with a kiss against his shoulder, sweet and sentimental and light and so many things Bruce never is.

When Dick doesn’t respond—he’s too surprised—Bruce kisses him again, on the side of his face and almost sighs at the end of it. Sinks into silence and holds him with both arms, holds him close like he’s suddenly afraid of something. Like he’s scared to let go.

Bruce holds him as he’s drifting into a quiet sleep. A low murmur, and it’s so heavy and beautiful. So faint he almost doesn’t hear it. “I love you both.”

When his front door opens, Tim nearly jumps out of his skin. Breath caught in his throat and he’s trying to slow his heartrate as he quickly pieces everything together. Untangles his legs from each other, sits up on the couch properly like a calm, reasonable adult. Sets the television remote down on the coffee table as he sends a very irritated, pointed glare to a certain someone that’s standing in front of him and trying to stifle his laughter.

“I told you to stop doing that,” Tim almost hisses.

“I did recommend locking the door,” Dick shrugs.

“What do you want,” Tim almost rolls his eyes, idly clearing his throat.

“Just wanna chat about something,” Dick makes a show of reaching over and bolting the door’s lock.

“Didn’t feel like calling,” Tim asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Where’s the fun in that,” Dick saunters over to the couch. Glances at the television, “Oh, I love this show.”

“Dick-”

“Hold on a sec,” Dick watches the current scene, a sitcom with a laugh-track playing as he chuckles faintly.

Tim audibly clears his throat, a bit louder.

“Okay,” Dick settles and turns back to him, facing him as he idly—almost suspiciously—grabs one of the couch pillows and cuddles it close to his chest, as if seeking consolation for something that’s yet to happen. “I need to ask you something. Now that you’re um…” he shrugs, “back from your vacation.”

“Which was straight-up _luxurious_ by the way,” Tim adds with a faint grin.

“I bet. I’d love to hear about it,” Dick says.

“Okay-”

“But here’s an idea.”

Tim’s already rolling his eyes.

“Just off the top of my head,” there’s some humor in his delivery, and it’s more frustrating than endearing. Tim recognizes this strategy. He’s deflecting some of the weight off what he’s about to say. He’s lightening the impact. “Why not take… a different kind of vacation.”

“What,” Tim frowns at him.

“A staycation,” and Dick almost smirks at his own cleverness. “Right here in Gotham.”

“Oh, no,” Tim’s sighing before he can even finish the pitch.

“It’ll be fun. I promise.”

“Seriously?”

“Mix things up a bit. A change of pace.” And he talks with his hands, fingers spread apart as he waves his hands in a wide circle, “See the city in a different light.”

“You know I have a job,” Tim says.

“Take on new responsibilities. Broaden your skills,” Dick smiles at him.

“I have my own team,” Tim’s voice is a small whine.

“Uh huh-”

“Why are you always like this,” Tim’s stretching out his legs as he settles back into the couch. “You just assume my job is less important.”

“I didn’t say that-”

“You’re _implying_ ,” with his lips slightly curled.

“I’m so proud of you, Timmy,” Dick dramatically puts his hands on his face, hands on his cheeks as he looks with a sudden overbearing, almost humorously overdone touch of pride, “Leading your own team-”

“Don’t change the subject,” Tim averts his eyes to the ceiling. “Just tell me what you want.”

An almost awkward silence, as Dick repositions his legs, pressing one of his feet against the coffee table. “Okay.” He idly scratches his arm, “I need you to fill in for me.”

“Huh,” Tim looks at him directly.

“Just for a…” Dick shrugs, “Few months. …Maybe a year.”

“What.”

“No good?” Dick’s mouth is turning sideways in a wide grimace.

“Why.”

“Nothing bad. Life stuff,” he idly taps his foot against the table’s edge.

“Are you sick,” Tim gets straight to the point.

“Nah,” and Dick shakes his head. “Not really.”

Tim gives an incredulous stare. “You’re dying, aren’t you.”

“Jesus,” Dick’s eyes widen. “I hope not.”

“So you’re injured.”

“Not really.”

“Not… really,” Tim frowns at him.

“Tiiimmy,” Dick pouts at him.

“What.”

“I need time off,” Dick clasps his hands together, and puts on an earnest, pleading expression. “I really need time off. And I have so much faith in you. I know you could handle it.”

Tim sighs faintly.

“ _Please_.”

“Not if you don’t tell me why,” he crosses his arms against his chest.

Dick pouts at him, dramatically exaggerating his expression.

“Would I…” and Tim almost frowns, giving him a sideways stare, “say no if I knew why.”

“No,” Dick shakes his head, automatically. “No, you’d definitely agree to help me.”

“You’re… sure,” his voice hesitant and faint.

“Yeah,” Dick nods, with a small smile. “Because you’re a good guy, and you care about me. You’d want me to be safe.”

“Safe,” Tim’s eyes widen. “Safe from what.”

“Nothing serious,” Dick smiles wider.

“But you just said-”

“ _Tim,_ ” Dick pleads with him, leaning forward, clutching the pillow to his chest even tighter.

Tim sighs.

“Please.”

“I’m so busy,” Tim says, his eyes wandering back to the television screen for a lingering minute. “Isn’t Bruce available for this sorta thing.”

Dick almost scoffs.

Tim grimaces, “You’re right. He never is.”

“Uh huh,” Dick nods, a bit tongue in cheek.

Tim looks back at Dick, and he’s almost tense at how intently Dick is staring at him. Heavy eyes and an almost pitiful expression, as if eagerly anticipating his every word. “You know what,” Tim drawls casually.

“Yeah,” Dick asks hopefully.

“Tell me why, and I’ll help you.”

Dick immediately bounces it back. “Why what.”

“Don’t be cute,” Tim rolls his eyes.

“Impossible,” Dick smiles at him.

“Ugh,” Tim cringes. But his frustration is getting obvious. He’s losing patience. “Seriously,” and he lowers his voice to breach a more serious question, “Don’t you trust me?”

Dick sighs to himself. Averts his eyes to the table’s surface and says faintly, “it’s really personal.”

“Really,” Tim tilts his head.

“It’s very,” and Dick almost shivers, “very personal and I promise to tell you when I’m ready.” He looks up and gives him another intent stare, “I’m coming to terms with it. Still.”

“You’re actually sick, aren’t you,” Tim frowns.

“It is a health issue,” Dick says.

“The hell,” Tim says in faint disbelief. “Does Bruce know about this.”

Dick nods, with a slight grimace.

“Of course. Bruce knows everything. But not me. Not your precious brother,” he rolls his eyes.

“Tim, _please_ ,” he returns to the begging, pleading strategy.

“Are you gonna be okay.”

“Yeah,” Dick almost says it too quickly; gives it another moment of thought and says more slowly, definitively, “Eventually.”

Tim sighs. “Okay. As long as it’s not… really serious… I guess.”

Dick almost whispers, “Serious in a good way.”

“Huh,” Tim’s jaw goes slack.

Dick detours the subject. “Thank you Timmy.”

“I don’t know what I just agreed to,” he scrunches up his nose, frowning.

“You’re my favorite, Timmy.”

“Okay.”

“I love you, Tim-”

“I get it,” he hisses.

 

Lately, he likes watching kids’ television shows.

The current one that’s on is about a little blue rabbit with big eyes and a puffball of a tail. The rabbit’s on a quest to find his carrot because he believes someone stole it, but the joke is that it’s safe and sound, back at his house. He figured that out a few minutes into the episode, but he suspends his disbelief for long enough to stay engaged.

He never had these shows around as a kid. He didn’t grow up with a television, and whenever someone else had one, he was usually too preoccupied to watch it. When Bruce brought him into the manor, it was one of the first gifts for his new room. But even still, it remained a piece of decorative furniture, an object he appreciated but rarely ever used.

He’s changed a bit since then.

He’s laughing quietly as he watches, sitting a few feet away, cross-legged on the floor. He slides a small sewing needle into his mouth, as he uses both hands to examine the uniform sprawled over his legs, frowning when he notices something odd in the stitching. He blinks one time, takes hold of the sewing needle and gets back to work.

He’s tugging at the thread to tighten the seam, when Alfred walks into the room. He feels the man’s presence before he says anything; recognizes his precise, exact footsteps. His hesitance, the way he is always hesitant, before he interrupts Dick’s solitude to speak.

“Master Richard,” he intrudes politely, as Dick pauses to glance over his shoulder, “Have you eaten?”

“I had breakfast a while ago,” he promptly answers, as he glances back at the screen, just in time to see the rabbit marching up the hill, back towards his little house.

“Cereal, or _breakfast_ sir,” Alfred raises an eyebrow.

Dick laughs a little—not only at Alfred’s sharp quip, but at the show as well—“I could tell you what you wanna hear, but that’d be a lie.”

When he turns back to look at Alfred this time, the man is frowning at him with some disdain. “Well then,” he says, his eyes darting to the fabric sprawled across Dick’s legs, just for a moment before he looks up again, “I shall prepare you something… suitable.”

“Cereal’s not too bad for you, you know,” Dick grins at him, “It has… vitamins, and grains, and…”

“And sugar, yes,” Alfred interjects. “And preservatives, artificial coloring and artificial sweeteners.”  After receiving a surprised, but amused smirk from Dick, Alfred tells him with a hint of a frown, “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll prepare you something… reasonable.”

Dick simply nods at him, a grin lingering on his lips, “Thanks,” and he returns his attention to the television to catch the finale of the episode where—just as he thought—the rabbit discovers his carrot on the floor, in the _kitchen_ of all places. What a cute joke.

Before he leaves the room, Alfred pauses to take one more look at him. Again, he glances at the fabric; he recognizes its texture, its shine. He recognizes the splash of that familiar red, bold and aggressive beneath the layers of black.

Without another word, he turns and retreats into the kitchen.

 

Dick looks at the plate with wide eyes, when Alfred brings over a dish that’s not only piled with food—it’s piled high with separate portions: eggs over easy, slices of toast, a side of picturesque fruit, and what looks to be a stack of hash browns. “You were not kidding,” he says.

“Perhaps we should trade,” Alfred suggests, his eyes giving a steadfast, intent stare.

“Hmm,” Dick questions.

“The suit, for this plate.”

“ _Ah,_ ” Dick exhales faintly. He regains his composure and narrows his eyes, “Did Bruce rope you into this.”

“Your current predicament is no laughing matter,” Alfred swiftly responds. “It is my responsibility as your butler, and,” he pauses, “should I say, someone who cares for your well-being.”

“Aww, Alfie, you’re so sweet,” Dick gives a slight smirk. “But you shouldn’t worry about it.”

“Pardon,” Alfred responds with deliberate skepticism.

“It’s not for me,” and he slides the needle into a small pincushion near his leg, “It’s for a friend.”

“A friend,” Alfred frowns at him.

“I have friends,” Dick says, cheekily. “You know,” he almost winks. “I’m not the only person that wears suits in this family.”

“If you insist,” and Alfred finally lowers the plate onto the floor beside him, as Dick gingerly moves the pile of fabric away.

“Trust me,” Dick says, picking up the plate and relocating it to his lap. “I’m stubborn, but I’m not a liar.”

“I sometimes doubt that,” Alfred says quietly.

“Huh,” Dick raises his eyebrows, but Alfred is already turning away.

His lack of a response makes the hairs rise on the back of his neck.

“What do you mean,” Dick’s asking, but it’s no use. Alfred’s not going to respond. “I’m not a liar,” he calls after him, as Alfred steps out of the room, “I’m the most honest person you’ll ever meet.”

It might be the first time he’s raised his voice at him. He’s almost thankful that he’s already gone, but the silence hurts. The unanswered question behind his cryptic statement.

It stings.

He’s stabbing his plate with his fork, but for a few seconds he just toys with his food, stabs it monotonously until he shakes free of his thoughts and manages to find enough initiative to eat. It’s like a switch he turns off, with a faint grumble under his breath and he shoves the first forkful of food into his mouth. Focuses back on the television to clear his mind, but it’ll still be a few minutes before it works.

 

He hadn’t noticed he was falling asleep until he’s startled awake by a door swinging open, and footsteps approaching. Dick opens his eyes wearily, wondering where the time went because it seems like he was just awake; then somehow he wasn’t.

Takes him a minute to remember where he is. The kitchen. The kitchen table? He was reading something. This magazine. Drinking something. Tea. It’s gotta be cold by now.

He glances at the teacup and lifts the cup for a second, just to verify. Yep. It’s a shame; there’s still so much of it left in there.

Footsteps approaching even closer, and he’s setting the teacup back down onto the table as he turns to look. His eyes immediately widen, but in his tiredness he’s barely registering what’s going on.

“Hello sweetheart,” is a jovial, almost too cheerful greeting. A wide, sharp-toothed grin and glittering eyes. Leaning forward, one hand on the table as he waits for a response.

“Why are you here,” is Dick’s immediate response. Blinks a few times to wake up further.

“Wow,” and Jason almost laughs, leaning back slightly. “Nice to see you too.” Looks him up and down as Dick runs a hand over his face, obviously still struggling to return to the world of reality.

Jason almost seems amused. “Also? _Love_ the look. So sharp.”

Dick pauses. Glances down at himself. A suit. Why is he wearing a suit. Buttons still in place, pants without any dust or wrinkles on them. Why is he dressed like this. When did he put this on.

“Is this an everyday thing for you,” Jason teases. “I guess Wayne Corp’s fancier than I thought.”

Dick feels a tremor run through him. Presses his hand firm against his forehead and then with a spark of confusion—almost fear—glances at the clock on the far wall. “I had a meeting.”

Jason raises his eyebrows, “oops.”

“A meeting with,” and Dick’s trailing off, as he stares at the clock, almost willing it to move backwards. Faintly, under his breath, “Shit.”

Jason shakes his head with some empathy. “Damn. Too bad for you.”

Dick sighs, long and drawn out.

“Hope it wasn’t important.”

“Whatever.” Murmurs, reassuring himself, “Bruce can handle it.”

Jason tilts his head at that.

Dick looks at him, almost wearily. “So what do you want.”

Jason smiles at him, and it’s almost sinister. But his response is straight-forward and honest. “Heard you could use some help.”

“Huh,” Dick scratches his neck, sighs faintly as he undoes the top button of his shirt.

“A little bird whispered  something in my ear,” and Jason twirls his finger around in small circles, “Said something about you needing some assistance.”

“Yeah,” Dick nods. “Okay.”

Jason squints and crosses his arms. “What’s with that look.” He almost pouts, “You don’t trust me?”

Dick nearly smirks, “not entirely.”

“Ouch,” Jason presses a hand over his chest. “My heart.”

Dick frowns. “Can’t believe I missed that meeting,” he says under his breath.

“Hello, Earth to Dick.”

“That’s a first.” Dick sighs and presses his fingers over his eyes.

Jason takes the hint and pulls up a chair. Sits down beside him and says, swiftly, “Shit happens.”

“Why are you actually here,” Dick asks.

“I’m not allowed to help my dear brother in need?”

Dick blinks at him, “Seriously.”

Jason leans in, almost too close for comfort. “He’s worried about you, ya know. You startled him.”

“Startled,” Dick almost laughs. He shrugs, “Everybody needs a little time off sometimes.”

“Yeah, okay,” Jason nods. Drums his fingers against the tabletop, “You haven’t taken time off since you started this job.”

Dick tilts his head. “I’ve taken a few days here and there.” He pauses, and averts his eyes, “Who let you in, anyway.”

“Don’t get cheeky.” Jason speaks more quietly, “A year? Really.”

Dick shrugs.

“So what’s the deal. You hate taking time off.” He pauses for emphasis, “It _kills_ you.”

“Doctor’s orders,” he says swiftly. “Nursing an injury.”

“What,” Jason gives him a perplexed look. “Chronic stress? Debilitating insomnia?”

Dick smirks, “You’re not that funny.”

“You’re seriously not gonna tell me,” Jason frowns at him. “We’re supposed to be family,” he ends his statement with an expressive pout.

“I’ll tell you when I’m ready,” Dick says.

“Oh, wow,” and Jason even leans back a little. “This sounds serious.”

“Yeah,” Dick shrugs. “Kind of a big deal.”

“Bats is gonna be pissed,” Jason says.

Dick exhales faintly.

“But he already knows, huh,” Jason frowns. “He’s the only person you told.”

“I tell him everything,” Dick bites his lip absentmindedly.

“Ha,” Jason smirks. “Fuckin’ weird.”

“Huh,” Dick gives him a tired look, eyes still a bit heavy.

“You two are fuckin’ weird,” Jason spells it out for emphasis.

Dick shrugs. “Anyway,” He’s eager to detour that subject. “I guess I won’t… refuse your help. If,” he gives him a direct stare, “you’re actually serious, and you actually want to help.”

“Scout’s honor,” Jason says, with a nod. “I’m not a total bastard.”

Dick smirks. Says faintly, “I know.”

“That’s sweet of you, Dickie.”

“Yeah. Don’t let it get to your ego.”

 

It’s a cold evening. They’re standing on one of the highest balconies in Gotham—one of Wayne Corp’s towers—to get a better look at the city. Dick gave a general run-down of his route, but he used vague terms because you can never be too safe, as Bruce taught him.

Tim is running his hands over his arms, shaking. Jason judges him for that, slightly, but he can’t pretend it’s exactly warm out here. Dick was smarter; he’s wearing an actual proper coat, looking both more dapper and more functional than either of them. But he was, as Jason teased him, “doing the professional thing again.”

Dick doesn’t know what that means, exactly, but he had another Wayne Corp meeting and Jason can’t pretend to be interested in any of those details.

“Remember,” Dick is bringing them back on subject, because Tim and Jason like to banter and veer off course. “When you’re out there, you’re _me_. Far as anybody else knows, there’s no difference.”

“Oh, goody,” Jason presses his hands together, almost clapping.

“Not you,” Dick says swiftly. “Tim gets the suit.”

“What,” Jason’s jaw goes slack for a second, “He’s not nearly as big as you.”

“Excuse me,” Dick gives him a sideways look.

“Height, sweetie,” but Jason almost laughs. “Glad to hear you worry about that too, though. Better keep hitting the gym during your vacay.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Dick retorts, but he’s learned better than to take Jason at complete face value.

“He has a point though,” Tim says. “It’s more believable.”

“See,” Jason says. “Kid knows what’s up.”

“It makes more sense to have Nightwing and Red Robin working together.” Tim frowns to himself, “Nightwing and Red Hood is just… awkward.”

“Awkward.” Dick tilts his head, thinking it over. Pouts slightly, “but I already started adjusting a suit for you.”

“Adjusted how,” Tim asks.

“Smaller,” Jason chirps, almost merrily.

“Don’t be mean,” Dick says.

“It’s just fact,” Jason shrugs. “You and me,” he puts an arm around Dick’s shoulders, and it’d be endearing if he wasn’t acting so smug. “We’re almost twins.”

“Face is different,” Tim says.

“Yeah,” Dick nods. “I’m prettier.”

“Without a doubt,” Jason pats him on the back. He almost sings, “Doesn’t matter under the mask.”

“Voice is different,” Tim says.

“Now that’s not fair,” Jason says. “No one’s as suave as Dickie.”

Dick smirks faintly. Wind’s kicking up as he runs a hand through his hair to sweep it out of his eyes. “Thank you, Jay.”

“Besides, how could I pass this up,” Jason shrugs. “I get to be you,” and he does a small twirl, as if dancing. “My actual worst nightmare.”

“I’m not forcing you to help,” Dick deadpans.

“I know,” Jason puts his hands on his shoulders, this time massaging them slightly as Tim gives him a perplexed look. “Relax, dear.”

Tim looks like he wants to gag at the display of affection.

“We’ve got this. You focus on your… underwater basket-weaving.”

“Tim,” Dick sends him a weary look.

“Dick,” he smirks back.

“Please keep an eye on him.”

“Shh,” Jason whispers, as he continues to massage his shoulders, “You worry too much.”

“That’s supposed to be my line,” Dick murmurs.

“Huh,” Jason pauses.

“Yeah, what,” Tim asks.

“Nothing,” Dick says. Reaches back and lifts Jason’s hands off him. Jason laughs, when for a moment, his hands are held almost delicately. He grips Dick’s hands firmly for emphasis, turning him to face him, “Oh Dickie, I didn’t realize you felt that way.”

“Can you not,” Tim whines.

Dick is frowning at him, but his lips are curving into a stifled laugh. “I’m sorry Jay.” He shakes from his own laughter, and even his voice trembles, “It will never work out.”

“I know,” Jason leans in, and says in the quietest voice he can manage, “You’re taken, right.”

“Huh,” Tim catches more of that than he intends.

“None of your business, kiddo,” Jason gives him a pointed look. “Adult stuff. Important talk.”

“I’m married,” Tim hisses.

“He’s so tiny,” Jason says. Shakes his head, “He’s just so small,” nudges Dick in the shoulder, “Like you wanna pick him up.”

“Jay,” Dick scolds him.

“Relax,” Jason swiftly moves, to reach an arm around a squirming Tim. “We’ve got this. I’ll even make sure he gets to school on time.”

“I really hate you,” Tim says in a small voice.

“They’re just so precious at this age,” Jason says.

 

Roy’s lightly hitting him in the arm, “You realize it’s been like, two weeks since I’ve seen you.”

“Almost three,” Dick teases. Reaches out and looks closer at the bottle sitting on the counter. “What is this,” he muses.

“Kombucha,” Roy says. Saunters over and gently takes it away from him. “It’s not all about booze, man.”

Dick smirks at that, and resists the comment at the edge of his tongue.

Roy’s pouring it into a glass, filling it about halfway. Slides the glass over a few feet, to stop in front of Dick. “Try it.”

“It looks weird,” Dick says.

“It’s all natural, and shit,” Roy quips. Almost scoffs, “Thought you were getting into that healthy stuff now.”

“I’m trying,” Dick grins faintly. Raises the glass to his lips and takes a cautious, almost hesitant sip of the murky concoction, but he’s pleasantly surprised when it’s not terrible. “Not my favorite though,” he says.

“Well,” Roy shrugs, “If you don’t want it, I’ll have it.”

“Please,” Dick smirks and nudges it back over.

“You want water or something,” Roy offers.

“I’ll get it.”

“I forget,” Roy smirks, “You know your way around the place.”

“Been here enough times,” Dick comments as he passes by, moving towards the cabinet to pull another glass down. “Pretty quiet without Lian,” he says.

“Yeah,” Roy says. “I get her back this weekend.” Glances back at Dick when he hears the sound of the faucet running. “I have a filtered pitcher, you know.”

Dick pauses. “That’s new.”

“There’s a lot of shit in the water,” Roy cautions, pointing vaguely. “Gotta watch the fluoride, lead, all that shit.”

“Lookit _you_ ,” Dick grins as he opens the fridge and leans down, noticing the pitcher on the shelf.

“I try,” Roy stretches his arms out. “Trying to be more responsible.”

“Mm,” Dick’s pouring his glass of water.

“Taking my role more seriously, you know.”

“Role,” glass in hand, he closes the fridge. He saunters back towards Roy and leans against the counter beside him.

“You know, as a dad.”

It shouldn’t, but that catches Dick off-guard.

“Gotta raise her right. That includes health, too.”

“Good for you,” Dick nods.

“What about you.”

“What about me,” Dick’s face flushes slightly.

“How you been.”

“Oh.”

“Geez,” Roy almost laughs. “You’re kinda wound up.”

“Eh,” Dick shrugs. “Just a lot of stress lately.”

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me,” Roy teases.

“Wouldn’t dream of avoiding you,” Dick smirks at him.

“I love you too, darling.”

Dick chuckles to himself.

“So.”

“So.”

“Stress, is it,” Roy gives him an intent look. A focused stare.

“Yeah,” Dick idly taps his fingers against his glass. “Lots going on. Too many obligations.” He pauses, “I’m trying to take a step back, but… it’s hard.”

“Step back,” Roy stretches back. “From what, exactly.”

Dick shrugs. “You know. My night job,” but he almost laughs, and that seems to confuse Roy. “Gonna take a short vacation from Wayne Corp, too.”

“Wow,” Roy raises his eyebrows. “That’s big for you.”

“Yeah,” Dick almost looks nervous.

“What’s the story?” Roy sets his glass down, crossing his arms over his chest, “Why this, all of a sudden?”

Dick shrugs, “Trying to focus on myself for a while. Peace of mind. Stability, health.”

“Health.”

“Yeah. That’s not that weird, is it.”

“For you it is.”

“Oh, come on.”

“I’ve seen how you eat,” Roy scoffs. “I’m surprised if you’ve even _tried_ Kombucha.” He smirks at him, “You’re lucky you have good fitness. Keep your body in check, cause otherwise? Man.”

“Don’t be mean,” Dick pouts.

“Just being honest. Cereal and pizza are not balanced meals, babe.”

“Yeah, well.” Dick shrugs, “Trying to do better.”

But when Dick looks at Roy—looks at him directly—he’s surprised at the way he’s looking at him. Staring intently, brows furrowing deeper as the stare lingers on, like he’s trying to sort something out.

“What,” Dick asks, forcing a slight grin.

“You look different.”

Dick frowns, “Nah.”

“You do, you look,” Roy tilts his head, “softer on the edges.”

Dick grimaces.

“I mean, you’re still good-looking. You’re always devilishly handsome.”

“Thank you, Roy-”

“But you’re kinda… squishy.”

“What does that-”

“Your muscles are less defined. You’re not working out as hard.” He pokes at his arm, “You lifting less?”

Dick exhales as a dramatic sigh. “I’ve been really busy.”

“Even your face-”

“Come on,” Dick rolls his eyes.

“Like you’re softer in your features, too.”

“Can you not.”

“I’m just saying. I’m your friend, I notice these things.”

Dick sighs slowly.

“Little bigger around the midsection, too-”

“Rude.”

“Only because I care,” he teases.

“Making yourself feel better,” Dick teases.

“Nah,” Roy shakes his head. “You’ll always be prettier than me.”

Dick pouts, “pretty, huh.”

“Sorry. Don’t mean it in a bad way.”

“It’s fine. Just been hearing that a bit more than usual.”

Roy shrugs.

Dick pauses, and lets that thought mull over. Contemplates dropping a small truth, to test the waters. Says quietly, “Hormones are acting up.”

“Oh,” Roy raises his eyebrows.

“Hope it’s not too obvious.”

“Don’t you take meds for that sort of thing.”

“Yeah,” Dick shrugs, “But I had to change the dose.”

“Lame.”

“Yeah. It’s…” and he trails off, letting the words settle. “It’s tough.” He grins faintly, but it’s not genuine. “I don’t wanna look like a girl, you know.”

“You look fine,” Roy nudges him in the arm. “I’m just noticing the small stuff, cause I know you. You’re still the most handsome man in Gotham.”

“Ha,” and this time it’s more real. “Thanks.”

 “Besides,” Roy shrugs, “Everybody changes a little, now and then. Doesn’t mean you’re not… who you are.”

Dick nods, idly biting his lip.

“Doesn’t make you any less of a man to me. You’ll always be my badass bro.”

Dick smirks at him. “Undying bromance.”

“Yeah, that. Maybe a little homo in there.”

Dick laughs quietly.

 

“That is preposterous,” a loud, booming voice in a stuffed room, filled to the brim with men in suits and stacks of paperwork, and computer monitors buzzing along the far wall. They’re gathered around a table, and most of their faces are politely staring down to the table, eyes to their hands. Only two men in the room are making direct eye contact during the uncomfortable moment: Dick Grayson Wayne and Wayne Corp’s executive of finance.

“That is, by far,” the man continues, “the most ridiculous idea I have heard. In days. Days,” he emphasizes.

Dick clasps his hands together, resting them on the table. Keeps his stare unwavering, his lips pressed tight and sealed.

“You are the face of this company. The only reason you are _relevant_ is because of this company. The biggest reason _we_ are relevant is because of you. This is a symbiotic relationship. You don’t get to just step down and hand-wave that away.”

Dick starts to frown, but he keeps it subtle. It’s important to keep his composure.

“You have landed an unprecedented amount of media appearances, and print interviews. You’re on the cover of _Metropolitan._ What are you going to do when that hits newsstands in a couple weeks? Announce your retirement? Worst timing. Awful business choice. You ought to be promoting this company more than ever before, riding that wave of good press and the most encouraging buzz we’ve had in _years_. You ought to be representing Wayne Corp and doing your actual job, not taking time off for yoga classes and meditation, or whatever malarkey you’re wasting time on. You ought to get your priorities straight-”

A sudden slam; half the bodies jump and the others are clearly rattled, all turning towards the sound. All except Dick, because he senses a familiar presence.

“M-Mr. Wayne,” the formerly bold executive is flushed red, and his posture immediately starts to change. He’s rattling to his core. “Glad you could join us,” even his words are unsteady and erratic, “Please have a seat.”

Bruce stares at him, breathing slow and heavy as he keeps his hand pressed against the door he just slammed closed. Stares for a long, suspended moment in time before he pulls his hand back and lets it fall naturally at his side. His body language is intimidating; he’s clearly not planning to sit or even move from his current place anytime soon.

“Your tone,” are his first words. All eyes on him, but still he doesn’t waver. “Bothers me.”

“I-I apologize,” and in the presence of such a stoic, strong force he’s starting to wilt. “But I thought it was important to voice my objections, for the good of the company, I-I-” he pauses to stop from stammering. “He won’t listen to me, but maybe you can talk some sense into him-”

“Mr. Weisman, The only person that needs a _talk_ is you.”

“Bruce, I must admit, that is surprising-”

“You’re out of line,” in that low, heavy voice. “This is not your decision to make. Your childish tantrum, your disrespect,” and he speaks slowly, to give each word its proper weight, “is not encouraged or welcome in this room.”

The man swallows hard.

“If this happens again, you will be disciplined.”

He nods. “I understand.”

“Good,” but it’s almost a growl, the way he says it. “You are dismissed.”

The man’s eyes widen.

“Do I need to repeat myself.”

“No,” his voice a quiet murmur. He bows his head, almost in shame. Wipes at his brow with a nervous hand and collects his paperwork, sliding it back into his briefcase. Shuffles out of the room as Bruce watches him with an unwavering stare, as if to guarantee he leaves.

Bruce lets that moment settle, and Dick exhales slowly as he feels something lifting, a weight he hadn’t realized was over him for the last several minutes. Blinks and seems to regain his composure, lets his face relax a bit as Bruce warmly greets the room. He’s no longer the threatening protector, but that he drew such a bold, definite line; it feels…

Bruce takes his seat where that man had been sitting, and he says, warmly, “Dick,” with an open palm gesture of his hand, “Please continue.”

Dick sends back a faint smile. “Of course.”

It feels good.

 

“Are you alright,” his voice is gentle and kind and it catches him by surprise. A firm hand on the back of his neck, fingers nestled in his hair and they stare at each other with more emotions than there are words for.

Dick’s looking into his eyes and it feels like such a long time since he’s been this close. “Yeah. Fine,” he says faintly but before he can get the entire word out, his lips are being crushed and there’s something so desperate about it. So insistent. He opens his mouth and closes his eyes to indulge, because it feels like days and days since they’ve kissed like this.

The kiss breaks, but it doesn’t end. Bruce is trailing that hungry kiss across his face, hand still firmly on the back of his neck as if to keep him there as his other hand starts to crawl down his chest. Downwards it travels, down his chest and past his stomach, and further down until it rests at the edge of his pants, hovering there for a painfully suspenseful moment as Bruce continues to kiss his face, and then his neck. His fingers slide their way beneath the fabric of his pants and it’s such a small gesture, but Dick’s hips immediately buckle with a sudden yearning, a sudden jolt of a pleasurable ache when those fingers ghost just a bit farther down.

He attempts to speak, but it comes out as an exasperated gasp. Fingers rubbing against somewhere they really shouldn’t, because- “Bruce,” he manages. Because- “In the office,” but it’s more of a question. A confused, bewildered question because this is so unlike him.

Bruce pauses in his movements and murmurs into his ear, “It’s fine.” Looks at Dick, almost intently and they share another deep stare, Bruce’s dark and intense eyes matched with Dick’s softer, emotional expression and it doesn’t take long before they’re kissing again. Kissing like they haven’t in such a long time, and Bruce’s hand is sliding its way past Dick’s underwear and it’d be alarming if he didn’t suddenly want it—whatever it is, anything he intends to do—so badly.

Runs his hands up Bruce’s back and grips his shoulders tight, holds on tight as they continue to kiss, and Bruce’s fingers are working their way inside him, making him shiver as he finds it more difficult to remain standing. Leans back against the wall and Bruce is all over him, his warmth, his hunger, his inexplicable need. His coarse fingers are massaging him so lovingly, so urgently, and he’s getting wet so quickly and starting to lose control of his breathing; feeling the blood rush, panting and sighing into Bruce’s aggressive kisses and clawing his hands down his shirt. Doesn’t know how this happened so suddenly, but he’s not going to fight it.

Bruce seems content, initially; but his fingers are slicked wet with cum and it frustrates him, more than anything. He glances down at the dirty sight of his hand buried between Dick’s legs and it seems to stir something within him. He almost delicately works his hand free. Doesn’t skip a beat, unzipping Dick’s pants and tugging them down properly for better access. The sudden rush of cold air is startling, and Dick is caught a bit off-guard at the sight of himself when he looks down, sees himself dripping and sticky as Bruce unzips his own slacks and shoves his slacks and underwear down to his knees. Dick’s almost startled by the sight of how hard he is.

Bruce loses no time. Moves back in for another kiss, this one open-mouthed and sloppy as he presses their bodies together, presses his hard cock against Dick’s wet cunt and for better closure, reaches down to lift Dick’s leg, hooking it over his waist. Leans in and he’s such a professional, he’s so smooth as he finds Dick’s cunt and presses the head of his cock against it, smoothing it around in small circles as he works it inside his entrance, burying himself as far deep as he can as they kiss. Dick’s hands trembling at the back of Bruce’s neck as he stifles a broken moan against his lips. Bruce is pushing himself deeper, and once he’s gone as far as he can he starts to thrust. It aches at first; it hurts—it’s been so many days since they’ve done this—but the pain is fading as Dick’s body relaxes, as he supports his weight against the wall, his lover pressed so heavy against him and the sensation of his warmth all around, on top and inside him is the most reassuring, comforting feeling in the world.

They fuck loudly, callously, not even half-undressed in the back of Bruce’s office and somewhere in the room his phone is ringing. Business is continuing as usual in the outside world, but the only thing on Bruce’s mind is fucking; claiming this person as his own once again.

Heavy breathing and heavy sighs and Dick is so loud right now, but that is vanishing from Bruce’s list of concerns. He thrusts a bit harder, thrusts so much Dick’s body shakes and he starts to make those pleasurable, beautifully incoherent noises that make him so hard. He’s so warm and hot and wet and beautiful; Bruce can’t stop kissing him, kissing his face, reaching down to massage his clit with his sticky fingers as he fucks him with so little restraint, less than he’s had in ages.

Exhilarating. Like coming home after a long time away.

It’s something in the way Dick looked earlier in the meeting; the way he held his composure. Something in the way he stared forward, didn’t flinch, didn’t even wince to give those angry words any credibility. Something in the way he’s been working so hard, been trying so hard to keep everything balanced and running as normal; even when he shouldn’t, when he doesn’t need to. His stubborn drive and his pride, his concern and his intelligence. The warmth of his body when he holds him at night, but it’s also the distance he’s seen in his eyes lately.

He needs to be closer.

Closer. He thrusts without abandon and Dick’s moans fill the room as he buries his face against his shoulder.

The realization that he’s carrying his child.

Closer.

Dick nearly cries out when he comes. His body shakes and it’s not long after that Bruce spills himself, because that’s his favorite thing in the entire world. Pleasuring his lover, bringing him to that moment of ecstasy, holding him so close. Dick’s beautiful face and his voice so vulnerable as he’s dazed in the afterglow; Bruce is kissing him softly and he empties himself inside him and it’s so familiar, so peaceful that he forgets that anything else matters, that anything else exists.

There is no reality beyond this, right now.

Kisses him delicately—gently—as he slowly pulls himself out. Looks at Dick, his beautiful eyes so full of emotion, kisses his face and tells him he loves him, because it’s one of the few times he’s able to say it, so he forces it out. Those words always feel difficult but it’s easier with him, easier over the time they spend together, easier than it’s ever been with anyone else.

Dick’s smiling at him, still breathing heavy from the frenzy they just fell into. They’re both unwinding, calming, slowing down and Dick says, “I love you too,” nods and for more emphasis, whispers it again, “I love you,” and it sounds so fond, so grateful; Bruce is compelled to kiss him for days.

He’s carrying his child. He feels like he just got the news, all over again. Like he’d somehow forgotten in the weeks before.

But it was never far from his mind. He puts an arm around him and holds him there, just to keep him close for a little bit longer. Just a little longer.

 

It’s the quietest morning for them in a while. Bruce awakens with a heavy sigh, a slow exhale as consciousness unfolds slowly and gently, his eyes opening to their calm, sunlit bedroom. He doesn’t remember if it usually looks like this, or if he hasn’t been paying attention lately.

It’s one of the only days there’s no meeting on his schedule; one of his only scheduled days off work. It’s not a luxury he’d often afford himself, but he likes to give the impression that his home life is full and whole. Difficult to portray that image if the coworkers were to see him working tirelessly day in, day out.

His mind feels clearer than it has in days.

Something’s different, though. He’s noticing an empty silhouette in the sheets, where a body was. He doesn’t have to look around to know that his lover isn’t in the room. He doesn’t hear him. Knows the sound of his breathing, asleep or awake. Knows even the slightest sounds when he tries to be discreet and silent.

Knew he was leaving their bed at odd hours, knew he was coming and going from the house in the early mornings. Suspected it was for his patrol long before he went to check up on him.

Still wonders if he overreacted.

But it’s not the patrol that was the biggest problem; it’s the lying. He’s not certain Dick understood. Knows he didn’t say any of it right. Barely said a word at all.

He’s rising to his feet and his body aches, but that’s nothing new. The house isn’t entirely silent, but there’s a small hum of something pleasant; a melody playing from a set of speakers somewhere down the hall. If he follows that sound, Dick should be there.

It’s become a bit of a habit, something he doesn’t think about anymore. Wants to see him when he wakes up, before he prioritizes anything else. Especially now. Especially lately-

Slow and steady footsteps and the floor creaks slightly beneath each step. He prefers it that way. Likes to be able to hear the steps down this hall, likes to know when others are approaching.

It’s two doors to the right, and then down a small set of stairs. The room opens up, into one of the few parts of the house Dick requested for himself. It began as a small training area when he was younger, and now it’s evolved into quite the arena; bars and ropes and nets. Dick never asked for much, so Bruce made sure to give him everything he wanted, down to the specific brands and models he requested.

A small stereo on the floor, playing what appears to be one of Dick’s meditation cds. He’d found it comical, before. But Dick wasn’t fond of his amusement so he never made another bad remark. Started to take it seriously, since it’s become a bit of a hobby for him now. Meditation, yoga, what looks like praying. Dick says it clears his mind. Bruce doesn’t understand, but he’s trying.

Steps into the room and looks up. Just as he suspects. Several feet above him, a lithe body suspended upside-down, legs hooked around a trapeze bar. Arms stretched behind him but unwavering; palms flat and steady, hands and legs in perfect symmetry.

He’s breathing slowly, and he keeps his eyes closed. Holds that pose for an unsettling amount of time before he opens his eyes, and seems to notice someone there. Tenses his body and slowly, carefully bends himself upwards, using the strength of his legs and his torso to sit himself upright, winding up slowly and locking his thighs around that bar as he balances his hands against two ropes that suspend it from the ceiling.

Bruce circles around, to face him directly. Dick looks down at him with an almost amused expression, eyes kind and lips curved in a subtle grin.

“I’m making you nervous,” he says.

“Good morning,” Bruce says.

Dick almost laughs. “It’s in your face.”

Bruce isn’t sure how to respond.

“ _And_ it’s gone,” Dick grins.

Bruce notices how intently he’s staring at him. How intently they both stare at each other. How long has it been this way. They cross paths and there’s suddenly so little else in the world.

“Don’t worry,” Dick smirks. “I’ll come back down soon.”

“Be careful,” Bruce says.

“I know, sweetheart,” and his chest rattles with a faint laugh. And he slowly bends himself upside down again, hands balanced against the two ropes, keeping them still and his body precise as he leans backwards in a gradual lean. “Always am,” he murmurs.

Bruce hasn’t stopped staring. Not entirely sure he wants to, but it’s not from concern.

“More comfortable up there,” Bruce says.

Dick’s tone betrays a bit his surprise. “Huh.” After a pause, “yeah.” He exhales slowly, and his body sways slightly. “Can’t take the circus out of me.”

“Wouldn’t try,” Bruce says.

Dick smirks at himself, “You do a _little_.”

“I apologize.”

Dick makes a faint sound, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “You’re funny today.”

“Funny,” Bruce questions. Takes a few steps forward and turns, to get a better look at Dick’s face.

But Dick closes his eyes. “You’re being so kind.”

Those words feel heavier than they should.

Dick opens his eyes, and looks at him. “And now you’re worried.” He grins, and it lingers through his words, “You’re wondering if you were being mean before.”

“I-”

“You’re so cute. I love you,” and Dick closes his eyes again.

“You too.”

And for the first time in a great while, instead of reacting with surprise or alarm, Dick smiles. Smiles gentle and kind. Says in a faint voice, “I know.”

That makes Bruce feel more comforted than he has in days.

 

It’s a quiet afternoon in the small house that Stephanie and Tim share, and she’s lounging across the couch, watching the television with a frown on her face. She makes a slow, drawn-out sigh of confusion, a low, “hmm,” as Tim wanders into the room, a plate of reheated leftovers in his hands and curiosity in his expression.

“What’d I miss,” Tim says, moving towards her.

“Dick’s taking time off,” she says.

“Yeah,” and he’s sitting down on the edge of the couch; she tucks her feet in to give him more room. Then it hits him. His eyes dart to the television. “From Wayne Corp,” and he almost nervously stuffs a forkful into his mouth.

“Yeah,” and Steph looks over at him as Tim’s eyes remain fixated on the screen. Dick in one of his suits, wearing a patient smile as he stands outside the Wayne Tower 2 building and answers questions into a reporter’s microphone. Lights from photography and flash bulbs all around; Tim asked him if it’s ever dizzying, before. All those lights. Dick told him he’s learned to ignore it, but it never seemed possible.

“Wow,” Tim says, reading the headline beneath the footage. WAYNE PRODIGY ANNOUNCES HIATUS, CITES ‘PERSONAL HEALTH’ CONCERN.

“Has he told you anything,” Steph says, the frown on her face only deepening.

“Not really,” Tim says.

Steph gives him a look, because she’s noticing the slight lie.

“He said he was taking time off,” but even he seems surprised, “but he didn’t say why. Didn’t say _anything_ about Wayne Corp.”

“It sounds serious,” Steph says, laying her head down against the edge of the couch, eyes once again fixated on the screen.

“I dunno,” Tim sighs faintly. “Maybe it is.”

“I feel like,” and she almost pauses with hesitation before saying the rest, “We should know about this.”

“Yeah-”

“We’re his family,” she says, with a hint of emotion. “We should know what’s happening.”

“Yeah,” but Tim shrugs. “I tried to ask him.”

“He’s really not saying anything,” she asks faintly.

“He says it’s a _health issue_ but,” he shrugs, “that he’s not gonna die or anything.”

She sighs. “So he might be dying.”

“I don’t think so,” Tim immediately retorts. “He didn’t sound.. scared or anything.”

“Never does,” she says.

Tim swallows heavy air.

Steph’s eyes remain fixated on the screen, and she blinks slowly as they show a close-up of his familiar smile, a trademark expression he’s perfected. “What did he tell you, exactly.”

Tim shrugs. “He asked me to fill in for his patrol. For a few months… to a year.”

Steph gives another slow blink.

“Mm,” and Tim almost seems reassured by something, a thought crossing his mind. “He said it wasn’t… bad. Said it was a _good_ thing. He said he’d tell us when he was ready.”

“So basically,” she sighs, “when he’s on his deathbed.”

“I don’t think it’s that serious,” Tim says. “Maybe he’s just injured.”

“Why wouldn’t he tell us, then,” she says.

“He did seem kind of,” Tim muses, “what’s the word…”

“Anxious,” she suggests.

“Not exactly.”

“He looks worried,” she says.

“Huh?”

She sits up, and points at the screen. “Look. He won’t show it, but it’s in his posture. He’s standing so tall.”

“What,” Tim frowns.

“He only ever looks _that_ professional and cool when he’s scared. Smiling the whole time like that. He thinks we don’t get it, but I do.” She nods, “That fake smile. He’s lying through his teeth.”

“So you think…”

“Maybe he isn’t… dying, or whatever,” she smirks. Shakes her head, “But he’s not okay. He smiled so much through that entire interview.”

Tim’s voice is small and almost vulnerable. “I just don’t know what he wouldn’t tell me about.”

The story finally changes, and Steph turns to look at him. A sympathetic look and a silent sigh. “I’m assuming he doesn’t keep a lot of secrets.”

“I don’t know,” Tim says.

Steph’s eyes widen.

“I used to think he didn’t, but…” he shrugs, “the older I get, I… I don’t know anymore.”

“You think he’s dishonest,” she suggests.

“I think he learned that skill from Bruce,” Tim says.

Steph averts her eyes, looking downward. “How to lie to everyone you care about.”

“I dunno,” Tim says, stabbing his plate with his fork, as if attempting to regain the will to eat. “I think he’s a pretty honest guy, but… sometimes he does these things where… he locks people out,” and he shoves another forkful into his mouth.

“I wonder why,” Steph says quietly.

“Bruce,” Tim says around chewing.

Steph chuckles. “That’s mean.”

Tim shakes his head. Mumbles as he chews, “He’s living at the manor.”

“What?”

“He didn’t tell me,” Tim swallows, “but I figured it out.”

Steph frowns.

“He sold his place and didn’t tell anybody. Didn’t say a thing. That’s why Bruce is always his ride these days.”

“Weird.”

“Did all this… Wayne Corp stuff,” Tim says. “Takes on more responsibility, takes on bigger press, why? Cause Bruce told him to,” and he’s stabbing his food again, almost with a touch of frustration. “Then something happened, god knows what. Maybe he messed up or something. But anyway, something happened and now he’s taking a step down from his patrol, his job, his press. Just announces it all of a sudden out of nowhere, when I _know_ he was just fine doing all this shit, just last week.”

“And you think…”

“Bruce said something, and now he’s gotta hustle, gotta hurry up and do what he wants,” he gestures with his hands. “Can’t make daddy-o upset, then he might be _disappointed_.”

Steph seems to sigh.

“That’s why I got outta there,” Tim says bitterly. “Had to escape the Bruce machine. Bruce, Bruce, Bruce.”

“I don’t think it’s like that,” Steph says.

“What else could it be,” Tim says.

Steph shrugs. “He’s not like you.”

Tim gives her a perplexed look, but he listens patiently.

“You couldn’t stand being in Bruce’s shadow. I get it,” she leans in, and nudges him on the shoulder, “I know you’re not a _yes sir_ man, you can’t just do what he says.” She pauses, “But I think he can.”

“Clearly,” Tim snarks.

“I mean,” she pauses to think, “He doesn’t just blindly obey, it’s more like… I think he _wants_ to.”

Tim gives that some thought.

“I think he really wants to… make him proud. He wants to be the person that Bruce expects him to be,” she shrugs. “I think they probably just agree on most things.”

“The Dick I knew,” Tim says bitterly, “he didn’t used to.”

“He’s getting older,” Steph says. “Maybe his priorities are changing.” She shrugs, “I don’t know, I can’t speak for him, but… I don’t think he minds jumping through all these hoops. I think he follows Bruce’s advice because he wants to. I think he thrives on some amount of pressure, a few high stakes, the same way Bruce does. It’s the challenge that drives them, it’s the… the stress that makes them tick.”

Tim doesn’t say anything.

“I mean, yeah, I  wish he’d confide in us. I wish he’d tell us more,” she says. “But I don’t think it’s fair to blame Bruce for it, like-”

“I’m not blaming him, it’s-”

“Dick is a really strong person, Tim,” and she finally relaxes her posture, sinking back into the couch. “If anybody can stand up to Bruce… if anybody can put their foot down and say what they really want, it’s him. I don’t think it’s an accident that Bruce is still his mentor, after all these years.”

“Huh.” Something in that hits him.

“If Dick doesn’t want to tell us, that’s his choice,” she sighs faintly. “But if he’s learned anything from Bruce, lying, deception, whatever you think it is. He wouldn’t just mimic that behavior without thinking about it.”

Tim frowns to himself.

“I’ve never seen him do something he doesn’t want to do.” She pauses, “ _Especially_ when Bruce asks him to.”

“But he always does what he says anyway,” Tim says.

“Because it’s about trust,” Steph says. “He trusts his judgment.”

Tim sighs faintly.

“I mean, it’s not like you ever _really_ want to do the laundry,” Steph smiles at him.

“Come on,” Tim pouts.

“But you still do, whenever I ask,” she bats her eyelashes at him. “Because you respect me, and you agree that it’s a good plan.”

Tim shakes his head, “Come _on._ Talking like they’re some old married couple.”

Steph shrugs, “When you’ve known someone for most your life? I don’t think it’s that different.”

“Ugh,” Tim says under his breath.

Steph smirks.

 

“Mm,” Dick is almost purring in excitement as he takes another sip of his smoothie. “Good lord.”

“Nice, isn’t it,” Wally’s grinning, arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the wall.

“That is orgasmic,” Dick says, with another slow sip as he admires the view. It’s a small balcony, far removed from the staggering towers of Gotham, but the view is pleasant and calm. Sunlight and warmth and gently swaying trees decorated with scattered houses as far as the eyes can see.

“Yeah,” Wally says smugly, “It’s a new talent I picked up.”

“One of Linda’s recipes,” Dick teases quietly.

“Hey now,” Wally tilts his head.

Dick laughs faintly as his phone starts buzzing in his pocket. It’s almost startling to both of them, the first obtrusive sound their quiet afternoon’s had in a while. He reaches down and pulls it out, looking at the screen. Almost seems surprised, but not in a bad way. “Just a sec,” he says, “it’s my mom.”

Wally’s laughing quietly, because he knows exactly who it is.

The voice on the line is urgent and prompt, “Richard Grayson Wayne.”

“Oh, no,” Dick’s wearing a sly smile, and he sets his glass down onto the balcony railing for safe-keeping.

The voice is urgent. Almost too serious. “What are you doing.” Oh, Donna.

“What.”

“Don’t you know you’re supposed to tell me every detail about your life.”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” but he lets an audible laugh slip through.

“You forgot to give me a running update,” and she almost hisses with her impatience.

“Are you stuck in traffic or something,” Dick teases.

“Maybe,” Donna says.

“You shouldn’t talk on the phone and drive, it’s not safe.” Behind him, Wally snickers.

But she doesn’t give him a moment’s rest. “You’re taking a break,” she asks. “What’s going on?”

“Donna-”

“Is it something serious?”

“Donna,” he tries again.

“If it’s something serious, you’d better tell me.”

“I’ll be fine,” he grins. “But _Donna_.”

“What,” she almost grumbles.

“I love you, but can we pick this up later?”

“Why,” she snaps back, but he can hear the humor in her tone. “Are you not alone,” and she lowers her voice, “are you with your boyfriend.” She hurriedly adds, “Who I don’t approve of you being with, by the way.”

“I’m with Wally.”

“Oh,” her pitch lightens. “Tell him I said hi.”

He pauses, leans towards Wally, and says with an exaggerated expression, “Hi.”

Wally shouts back, “Hi Donna!”

She laughs on the line. “Alright, I’ll let you go. Please _please_ fill me in soon.”

“I know.”

“Soon.”

“I know, Donna.”

“Okay. Have fun.”

“Drive safe,” he says.

“Okay babe. Bye.”

“Bye,” he says with a slight roll of the word and hangs up.

“She is so funny,” Wally is saying.

“Yeah,” as Dick slides his phone back into his pocket.

“It’s about the news, isn’t it.”

Dick pauses.

“Although I guess my question is… _which_ news.”

Dick smirks, “News on the tv,” and he picks up his smoothie.

“Oh,” Wally says, with a pointed look.

“What.”

“You haven’t told her,” Wally says.

“Eh,” Dick shrugs. Hurriedly takes another sip of his drink.

“Seriously,” Wally’s eyes widen. He nearly whispers, “She’s gonna kill you.”

Dick shrugs again.

“I mean not literally,” he leans in closer, “but she’s gonna be _pissed_ if you don’t tell her.”

“She’s already mad,” Dick says quietly.

“Why,” but then he figures it out. “The Bruce thing.”

“She _hates_ the Bruce thing.”

“I get it,” Wally says slyly.

Dick pouts at him, looking directly at him with disapproval.

“I’m your friend, I’m being honest,” Wally shrugs. “But it is what it is.”

Dick exhales slowly, venting idle stress.

“You need to just tell her.”

“Yeah-”

“I mean…” Wally tilts his head, and slides a bit closer to him. “If you can’t tell us,” he says, “who can you tell.”

Dick considers that in silence.

“We’re your best friends.” He nudges him on the shoulder, “We love you. You know that. We’ve seen you through a lot worse than this.”

“Yeah,” Dick says quietly.

“I mean eventually…” he sighs. “Eventually you’re gonna have to tell the whole world.”

“Lord,” Dick says under his breath.

“And they’re gonna lose their shit,” Wally grins, but it’s not humorous. “And when they do, you’re gonna need us.”

Dick nods along to his words.

“You’re gonna need support from the people that care about you.” He shrugs, “you’re gonna need to be able to just, call her up and talk it out, you know. You’re gonna need me, you’re gonna need her, you’re gonna need Roy-”

“I need more time on Roy,” he says quietly.

“What? Why,” Wally frowns at him.

“Not as close to him anymore,” Dick says.

“Really,” Wally asks with obvious surprise, his eyebrows furrowing deeper. “When did that happen.”

“I don’t know,” Dick shrugs, “It’s probably my fault.”

Wally gives him a silent, but intent look.

“Been having a rough time,” Dick clarifies, “with him. With Lian.”

“…oh,” the slow realization dawns on him.

“Got tough to be around him for a while,” Dick shrugs.

Wally seems wounded by his words, but it’s difficult to know why. Those words strike him somewhere deep. But he says nothing. Isn’t even sure what he’d manage.

“Like I said, it’s my fault anyway,” Dick almost mumbles.

“Roy still thinks the world of you, though,” Wally interrupts.

“I know-”

“I mean he legitimately does.”

“Yeah.”

“You could literally call him tomorrow,” and Wally’s expression finally softens a bit, “Call him up and say, ‘Hey Roy, I killed a man.’”

Dick starts laughing, despite himself.

“‘I killed this dude, and he didn’t even deserve it, but I need to hide the body right now.’ And he would show up, at 3am, in his pajama pants, hungover-”

Dick laughs a bit louder.

“With a shovel. Ready to go.”

Dick nods, even as he shakes from laughter.

“I _promise_ you.”

“Yeah,” Dick’s voice is a bit smaller, but his expression is more pleasant.

“There is literally nothing you can say to him, literally nothing,” Wally emphasizes, “That’ll make him turn his back on you.”

“Right,” but his expression is less certain.

“And that’s true for all of us. That’s true for me,” he starts gesturing with his hands, “it’s true for Donna, it’s true for Roy… it’s probably even fucking true for Tim, for Cass-”

“I haven’t spoken to Cass in so long,” Dick says in a faint voice.

“You’ve been busy,” Wally suggests.

“And Tim doesn’t trust me,” Dick says.

“Huh,” Wally tilts his head.

“He doesn’t look at me the same way.”

“I don’t know,” Wally shrugs. “He’s a smart kid, he’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.”

“I don’t know,” Dick’s expression is a bit heavier. He takes a minute to think. “Since I started this… with Bruce, it’s…”

Wally frowns, but he waits for him to finish his thought.

“When I got close to Bruce again… he looked at me differently. He doesn’t trust Bruce,” he says, tapping his fingers against the glass, “so he doesn’t trust me, by association.”

“Does he know about you two,” Wally asks faintly.

“No,” Dick says.

Wally’s expression falls with a slow sigh.

“There’s no good way to tell him.”

“Geez-”

“There’s no way I can tell him something like that. That we’re _both_ lying to him.” Dick frowns to himself. “He knows Bruce is covering up a few things, but me? God… _me_. I’m supposed to be the good one.”

“Jesus,” Wally sighs under his breath.

Dick blinks slowly and takes another sip from his glass.

“Jesus, Dick,” Wally shakes his head. “You know I’ve got your back, but…” he almost shakes, from his head to his feet. “This is some deep doo-doo.”

“I know,” Dick barely voices it.

“This is… You’ve built a web. You have an actual web of lies right now. Who knows what, who is gonna be told what, when, I feel like…”

Dick says not a word, as he rambles on.

“I feel like you need a chart, almost to sort this out. Who are you saying _what_ to.”

“Yeah,” but it’s barely a sound.

“I mean do you…” he sighs. “Lemme start over. Who knows about you and Bruce.”

“What, just the relationship part.”

“Yeah,” Wally nods. “Who knows, 100%, that he’s not your _pal_.”

Dick frowns to himself. Thinks for a good minute as he gazes out into the shimmering view of suburbia, with its pleasant colors and shifting shadows as the wind stirs the trees. “You,” and he pauses. “Alfred.”

Wally laughs slightly, “I should hope so.”

Dick trails off into silence.

“Wait,” Wally stops him.

Dick looks at him, directly.

“Is that it,” Wally asks with an exaggerated expression.

“Oh,” Dick remembers, almost smirking at him, “Donna knows, too.”

“Right,” Wally nods. “…but that’s it.”

Dick shrugs, “As far as I recall.”

“Seriously?”

Dick holds onto his glass tight, hands pressed so tight to release some stress.

“Three people,” he almost sighs in exasperation. He lets that settle for a minute. “Dick, how…”

Dick barely moves, even to breathe.

“This man is your partner.”

“Yeah.”

He lowers his voice again, leaning closer to deliver a more personal truth. “You’re starting a family together. How can you hide that from so many people?”

Dick attempts to shrug, but the motion requires more composure than he currently has.

“Why do you _want_ to?”

“I don’t want to,” he manages, however fragile it sounds.

“It’s the fear, then,” Wally says.

“Still terrified.”

Wally exhales faintly. “And you’re sure I can’t help you.”

Dick falls silent.

“You’re shaking,” but he playfully nudges him in the arm.

Unexpectedly, that doesn’t appear to help.

Wally puts an arm around his shoulders, “Are you okay.”

Dick shakes his head.

“Okay,” Wally reaches out, and gently pries the glass out of Dick’s hands. Sets it back onto the railing and promptly returns his attention to him. Opens his arms and it’s such a familiar gesture that Dick does not hesitate to move into his embrace, even as he’s shaking and covering his face with one of his hands.

Shaking; he’s shaking so much. Wally always notices it more than most. He’s so sensitive to the smaller tensions that it feels overwhelming.

Wally winds his arms tightly around him, and Dick is shaking so badly.

“It’s okay,” Wally says. “We’re gonna take this one step at a time, okay.”

Dick nods, and presses his hands against his back.

“First step, tell Donna.”

Dick almost laughs. It’s such a welcome sound.

“Tell Donna, and we’ll loop Roy in. I promise you,” he pulls him in a little tighter, “We’re here for you, and you’re gonna be okay.”

Dick nods again.

“One step at a time. You’re gonna be alright.”

 

“Look at that,” two steps back and a spin. “Making this look easy.”

Black shoes sliding along the concrete and he’s a merry silhouette of darkness as he takes one more look at his damage: a bad guy freshly KO’ed but not dead—as Dick had requested—and a few more a few feet away. Runs a hand through his hair and hums in tune with the distant tune of police cars as they come speeding down the street.

Turns a corner, and pauses when he hears a voice.

“Huh,” and he waits.

“Mister Nightwing,” there it is again.

He turns around, and running up to him is a young girl—well, not too young, maybe a preteen—with disheveled hair and a muddied shirt, dirty like she’d been thrown down. He frowns when he notices that detail, but her expression isn’t afraid or upset.

“Yes,” he looks down.

She stares at him for a solid minute, breathing heavily and she almost seems nervous as the sirens get louder and closer.

“Come on, kid,” he nudges her gently.

“T-thank you,” she stammers.

He tilts his head.

“That was my father’s store. T-the shop,” she spouts.

“Oh,” he says.

Before he can respond more adequately, she reaches out and gives him a strong embrace. Squeezes his chest tightly as he hesitantly puts his arms around her, “aww, geez.”

When she lets go, she’s smiling. “Thank you sir,” and promptly turns to run off.

“No problem,” he calls after her. “Anytime.”

He considers shouting something humorous or playful as she runs off, back towards the flashing police lights but it doesn’t seem like the right moment so he just lingers with that funny feeling in his chest and stands still. Almost too still, because when he hears a faint, “psst,” he almost jumps out of his skin.

Turns and frowns, almost snarling on instinct. “You…”

“Shut up,” a faint whisper. “Cm’ere.”

He shakes his head, “Always so kind.” He follows that voice’s lead, through a line of tall bushes and behind an empty building just off the main drag of the street. Takes a look behind him to make sure he’s not being followed as he turns the corner.

Turns that corner and there’s Dick, reclining on the steps of the empty porch, hands clasped together. Shivers slightly from the chill in the air and looks up at him with a peaceful, almost fond expression.

“Does your daddy know you’re out this late,” Jason quips at him.

“I don’t know, mister Nightwing,” and he smirks, “how do _you_ know who my daddy is.”

“Everyone does,” he takes a few steps closer, but he returns that amused expression. “You’re the most famous face in town.”

Dick laughs quietly.

Jason takes one look at Dick, and then his eyes roam upwards to the building. It’s a decent sort of house; empty, but not in disrepair. It looks decently maintained, with so little of the graffiti and damage typical of this area.

“Is this one yours, too,” he gestures towards it.

“Not yet,” Dick says smugly. But he gets a little serious, “I was thinking about it.”

“I dunno,” Jason teases him. “Kinda spooky around here.”

“Nice place for a low profile,” Dick says quietly. But there’s humor in his tone.

“Huh,” Jason shrugs. “Wouldn’t know. I’m not famous or anything.”

“Sure you are,” he smirks. “Everyone knows Nightwing.”

Jason chuckles, shaking his head.

“Nice job out there,” Dick says.

“Doing my best,” Jason teases.

“Oh?”

“Got big shoes to fill,” he shrugs.

“The suit does fit you well,” Dick says.

“Told you so.”

“When did your arms get so big though,” Dick teases.

“Well…”

“Nightwing’s doing some serious lifting.”

“You say that like he wasn’t before.”

Dick smirks.

“So what do you want,” Jason asks.

Dick finally stands up, “Just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“You could’ve called,” Jason says, cheekily.

“Where’s the fun in that,” Dick muses, frowning at some dust on his sleeve. He says under his breath, “Kinda miss it, anyway.”

“Then why quit,” Jason cuts to the point.

“Had to,” is all Dick says.

Jason frowns at him, but it doesn’t communicate well from behind the mask.

Dick puts a hand on his shoulder, “Really.”

Jason stares at him.

“Thank you,” Dick grins widely, and pats him on the arm. “For taking this seriously.” He grips his arm tightly, for just the next few words, “Thank you… for being kind.”

Jason lets those words settle, with a slight tilt of his head.

“I know it’s not… your forte,” Dick smirks at him. “I know we’re very different people, but I appreciate-”

“No, no,” Jason shakes his head at him.

Dick raises his eyebrows.

“Running from bullets is not my forte. Being chased by wild animals is not my forte. Being thrown from a building is not my forte. Being nice,” and he grins widely. “Come on.”

Dick laughs faintly.

“It’s not a specialty, but I am capable.”

“Well,” and Dick sighs a little. “Thank you.” He nods, “it means a lot to me.”

“You too.”

“Huh,” Dick’s jaw goes slack for a moment.

“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” Jason says. “I know I’m not your first choice,” he nudges him, and Dick almost smirks in response, “but I don’t intend to let you down.”

“I appreciate that,” he says it almost faintly. Seems to be thinking about something. “Anyway,” he finally says, “I don’t wanna keep you all night.”

Jason frowns at that, but Dick doesn’t appear to notice. Dick turns on his heel, and idly strolls past him. Starts to get a bit far off, wandering towards the main street when Jason stops him, calling after him, “It’s not a big deal for me, you know.”

Dick stops, and looks back at him.

“It’s more of an honor.”

Dick remains still, looking at him in silence and Jason is surprised at how difficult it is to speak, for once.

“You’re one of the best there is. No one does this better than you,” he outstretches his arms, in a wide gesture. He scoffs, “I mean who needs Batman when they got this guy,” and he points to his suit.

“Aw,” but it fades into a genuine smile, from ear to ear.

“Don’t be a stranger,” and Jason gives him a single wave.

“Sure,” Dick’s still smiling as he ducks his head slightly, turns the block and disappears.

 

Dick closes the door behind him. The manor is quiet as always; unsettling so, especially at night. The moon’s still high, the shadows are crawling. Birds aren’t yet awake and the house is devoid of any noise, except for the stray sounds of a distant television in a far-away room. Alfred watching another evening program, no doubt.

Dick sighs faintly. He’s not used to this at all. He barely knows what to do with himself, in these hours alone. He’d normally go to bed, but he’s not tired, so…

He walks down the hallway, and it’s that familiar creaking noise.

What now.

Wanders towards their bedroom, and wonders if this is what it’s like to live a normal life. So little urgency, right now. So few obligations. Almost no plans tomorrow. Another meeting he doesn’t care about, in a couple days. A few more press appearances this week, to address potential gossip. More days of clever lies.

So many lies, still. He’d imagined he was clearing them away, but he’s just started building new ones. New stories to cover the old ones.

Starts to feel tired, more tired than he expects, when he opens the door to the room. Turns on the nearest light, a dim standing lamp that casts the room in a dim golden glow.

Sits on the bed and exhales faintly. “I need a hobby,” he says. To no one, because no one is here.

Lets his eyes fall heavy and sinks back into the bed, laying on his back and staring at the ceiling. Listens to the idle sounds of the house, the static of the machines and climate control humming in the walls.

Closes his eyes and lets them rest that way for a while.

 

Wakes up to the bed sinking, a familiar weight near him. It doesn’t surprise him anymore. That heaviness and the slowness of his movements, the low murmur of his slow breathing; it’s so familiar he instantly turns towards that sound, towards that presence. Instinctively curls towards him without a question.

“Dick,” it’s a quiet murmur. Comforting.

“Mm,” he murmurs back.

“Dick,” and it’s a patient, quiet pleading. “Get up.”

“Huh,” and he opens his eyes, to see Bruce hovering above him. Shirtless and freshly showered; his hair is still dripping wet, and Dick grins faintly in amusement as he reaches up and touches it, digging his fingers into the wet locks.

“Come on,” Bruce says. “Let’s go to bed.”

Dick frowns a little, and looks down at himself, “Oh,” realizing he’d never changed from earlier. He starts to sit up slowly, as Bruce leans back to give him space. “Okay.”

“Are you alright,” Bruce asks.

“Yeah,” Dick looks at him, a bit confused. “Why.”

But instead of giving a response, Bruce looks at him silence. Puts an arm around him and pulls him close. Dick isn’t sure how to respond, so he just leans into it, and basks in the warmth of Bruce’s body and the scent of his warm, freshly bathed skin.

“You’re not okay,” Dick suggests.

“Been better,” Bruce says.

“Rough night,” he murmurs against his shoulder, pressing a small kiss to his collarbone.

Bruce doesn’t respond, but Dick knows what that silence means. “Let’s go to bed,” Bruce says.

 

It’s a refreshing shower later and Dick is drying himself off, patting at his body with a towel and he’s not aware he’s being watched until he’s just about done, patting his face dry and glancing up to see Bruce’s unwavering stare as he leans against the doorframe.

“Can I help you, sir,” Dick teases.

Bruce almost smirks at him, and that alone is enough. It’s a pleasant acknowledgement. But that’s not what Bruce intended, or what’s on his mind. He approaches Dick the way he so often does, with intent but in a slow, patient way that’s gentle and considerate. He encroaches into his personal space cautiously, as if he’d be ready to abandon it at any moment; at any moment that Dick decided he didn’t want him there.

But he never does. He instinctively leans closer, lets Bruce move in until his hands are on either side of his face, and Dick is letting the towel drape down against the side of the bath tub behind him. Lets Bruce kiss him and returns it with the same, almost sentimental emotion.

Dick feels a familiar tension in his chest, because he knows that when Bruce shows even just a bit of this kindness, this gentleness, the suggestion of the emotion is much stronger inside him. It builds and builds until just this small amount rises to the surface.

Dick used to hear stories about Bruce. About the few, but very publicized relationships he had before. Reporters that called him cold-hearted, gossip columns that said he wasn’t giving, he wasn’t expressive, he wasn’t ever really in love with anyone. A prominent ex blasted him in a report; she said he felt “nothing”. He gave nothing, he sacrificed nothing, he showed so little affection she couldn’t be happy until she separated from him.

It’d always seemed so bizarre.

He remembers those days. Remembers the jealousy that burned in his heart. Somewhere dark, buried somewhere he’d hoped that emotion could never return from. Remembers that slow burn of rage, of resentment, of bitterness; that someone who understood Bruce so little could be so close to him.

Immaturity, that. Dick knows Bruce loved her, at the time. Arguably no less than how Dick himself had loved his former partners. He loved a different person, once. He loved more than one of them. He loved and lost and there were a precious few years when he and Bruce were islands, drifting close and never crossing paths. They were content to build their unique lives with different people and they could have been happy, in a future where those relationships worked out.

But here they are.

“I love you,” Dick says, and it’s difficult to express the state of mind he’s in. That he’s thinking about his love for him, the way he so easily does, that he was sinking inside that comfortable place. That he could be here forever, forever just like this. That he’s so grateful that Bruce gave him a chance, that he let him in at all, because he remembers when Bruce shut him out. He remembers when Bruce turned him down, when Bruce told him it’d be wiser to avoid everything and neglect his own feelings.

Maybe he was right. But it doesn’t matter, now.

“I love you so much,” Dick says again for emphasis, and he lets a bit of his emotion show. Eyes so heavy and tired and he sinks against Bruce’s body and dwells in that familiar warmth. Strong arms around him and he knows Bruce is dealing with something, knows he’s hurting somewhere, but if he can’t explain it just yet, at least this can help.

Bruce doesn’t respond in words, he just holds him closer. Makes a faint sound, almost like a sigh and says again, “Let’s go to bed.”

Dick murmurs, “Okay,” but it’s a slow release as he separates himself from him, and Bruce’s expression is so tense and distant.

Bruce shuts the lights off, and they crawl into the sheets. But he’s not at ease, and Dick can tell because even now his body is rigid and tense, his movements are clumsy and slow. He isn’t sure how to be at rest, so the moment Dick gets comfortable enough, he presses a hand against Bruce’s chest and asks directly, “How can I help.”

Bruce turns towards him. It’s too dark to see his expression, but his shallow breathing says it all.

“If you don’t wanna talk about it,” Dick says. “What can I do.”

Bruce almost sighs. Startles Dick slightly by pressing his hand over his, clasping it tightly. “Don’t lie to me.”

Dick’s breath catches in his throat.

“It wasn’t about the patrol. It was the lie,” Bruce says.

His hand is grasping his so tightly now.

Dick frowns. “How long has that been…”

“I need you to include me.”

“Bruce…”

“If we can’t trust each other, what do we have.”

Dick inhales sharply. Tries to say his name but the sound doesn’t come out.

“Dick…”

“I’m sorry,” and he sinks into a moment of unsettling silence. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to…” but he trails off, and with a low and unsteady sigh. He’s forced to admit defeat. Defeat with speech, with articulating, with building a defense. “I didn’t mean to,” but there’s nothing left of value.

Because he’s right.

But Bruce’s arms are around him, pulling him closer and he’s too surprised to know exactly where his mind is leading him. He’s too startled to crawl down into that darkness. There are warm arms around him and that familiar heat of a comforting body pressed against him and a gentle and calloused hand smoothing its way down his back.

“I need you to trust me,” Bruce says quietly.

Dick feels something tug at his heart when he hears those words, but he doesn’t know if it’s more from shock or strong emotion.

Dick sighs slowly and almost painfully, buries his face between the pillow and Bruce’s shoulder, and Bruce is winding himself further around him, pulling him in so close there’s almost nothing of the outside world. When Dick closes his eyes, he feels a tear fall and he’s not sure why, but he’s not going to fight it.

But the silence concerns Bruce, and he leans back slightly, to see if Dick has anything to say. Searches for a response. But there’s a reason for the silence; Bruce looks down at him, and Dick presses a hand over his face in shame. Cries into the pillow and that does something to Bruce, strikes a chord in him and he’s smoothing a hand up and down his back, unsure of what to do but patiently waiting for the right sign.

Dick manages, faintly, “I’m sorry I upset you.”

“Dick…”

“I didn’t even think about it,” even as his voice is muffled against the pillow. “I’m just so used to being on my own.”

Bruce hesitates. Pauses his hand in motion and frowns. Wonders if he heard that right.

Dick looks up slightly. “I don’t know how to trust anybody.” Idly bites his lip and lets it go, “Never really could, you know.”

Bruce is still frowning, unsure of how to respond. “Why,” he asks in a quiet voice.

“Why what,” and Dick almost grins, but there’s no joy in it.

“You don’t trust me,” Bruce questions.

Dick almost shakes his head, “No, I… I trust you, just not..” and he sighs at himself, as his lie eats itself. “I couldn’t trust you because…” he sighs and swallows some words before he sends out new ones, better ones. “I wasn’t sure if I could.”

“If you could,” but there’s pain in his tone.

“Because the way you look at me, you judge me,” Dick says. “I feel like I always disappoint you-”

Bruce says nothing.

“And I never wanted to,” his voice fragments, just a bit and he fights back another wave of emotion, expression tense and breathing deep. “I want to make you proud. I don’t ever want you to look at me like-”

Still, silence-

“I don’t want you to look at me and see a failure.”

“Never.”

“I’m not as strong as you think I am,” Dick says, his voice wavering more with each word, “I’m not as smart, I’m not as skilled, I’m not as brave-”

“You’re exactly-”

“I’m not everything you think I am, how... How can I be all of that without lying to you.”

Bruce falls silent.

Dick takes that silence as  an opportunity to close his eyes. Closes his eyes and cries in that silence because he needs that release, needs to vent that stress somehow. Breathes slow and there’s no release in this, there’s no catharsis he desperately needs, only a hollow regret.

“Dick,” Bruce attempts. Leans in closer. “Listen.”

Dick doesn’t respond, but he remains quiet, breathing slow and labored.

“I accept you.”

“Thanks,” Dick says, dryly.

But Bruce is not so easily deterred. “There is no disappointment too great,” Bruce says, his voice unwavering. “There is no failure too significant.” Solid and still, but his voice almost breaks—it may be the only time Dick has heard it break—just then, “I am here with you.”

Dick inhales sharply.

A low sigh because the words are difficult, but it must be given sound. “I am here with you forever.”

 _“Bruce_ ,” and it’s said as a slow, mournful sigh. But he lifts his head from the pillow, and exhales slowly. Stretches just a bit, as his face contorts in an expression similar to frustration. “What are you doing to me,” but he ends it with a sideways grin.

Bruce gives him room to move, but he’s surprised when Dick takes the initiative to move closer again, nestling against his chest.

“What am I gonna do with you, saying something like that.”

Bruce makes a faint sound, almost uncertain how to respond.

Dick almost smiles. Speaks faintly. “Forever is a long time. You sure you wanna cash that check?” There’s something heavy in his eyes when he looks at him, stares at him directly.

Bruce is genuine, and it reads from his expression to his voice. “Yes.”

“ _Huh_ ,” Dick is almost amused as he lets his gaze soften and his body relax. Sinks down into the bed. “Well,” he says, almost with some humor, “thank you.”

Bruce slides an arm around his waist.

His expression is finally starting to show a hint of happiness, of calm joy. “But you’ve gotta forgive me when I’m not perfect. Cause I’m really… I’m really not.”

“I know.”

“I’ll do my best, but I’m gonna fuck up,” he finally yawns, subduing it behind his hand.

“Don’t,” Bruce says.

“What,” Dick almost laughs.

“Don’t aim for perfect.”

“Come on,” but his laugh is shallow and somewhat forced.

“I love you as you are. I always have.”

Dick pauses. Bites his lip as he stares at him.

Bruce shares that mutual look for a brief moment, but he averts his eyes as if embarrassed by the weight of his own words.

Dick slides closer, presses an intent, slow kiss to his mouth. Lets it break quietly, “Thank you.”

Bruce settles in and admires the view in front of him as Dick starts to calm down, settling in as if to sleep at last. Bruce keeps his eyes open for just a bit longer, heavy as they are, looks at his lover in a quiet admiration as pulls a few strands of hair away from his face and tucks them behind his ear.

Sighs quiet and slow when he does, because he doesn’t know what to do. Feels his heart swell. Listens to the faint and shallow breathing of this person he loves so much, familiar and comforting like he’s finally returned home after such a long time away.

But that lingering thought…

 _I feel like I always disappoint you_.

Dear God. There’s nothing farther from the truth.

 

Another day, one of his last few at Wayne Corp for a while. Another long chain of emails, and a reminder for a meeting he doesn’t want to attend. Another voicemail he’s going to tell Bruce to follow up with, because the more he steps back, the less capable he is of addressing problems. Another glass of ice water that’s a poor replacement for coffee. But coffee turns his stomach lately, so there’s little choice. He sits up in his chair and idly straightens his tie. Glances down; this suit used to fit nice and snug, but now it’s just feeling a bit tight.

He knows why, but it’s still easy to forget sometimes.

“Hey, Dick,” a voice from the doorway, and he glances up with some surprise.

Didn’t see anyone there; but he downplays it and responds cool. “Good morning.”

“Hi,” a hesitant half-wave. He’s seen this person before, but he can’t remember which department he’s in. Can’t seem to remember a lot of things lately. Less important things. “I’m,” and he’s almost hesitant, “Sorry to bother you. Bruce is looking for you.”

“In his office,” Dick asks.

“I’m sorry?”

“Is he in his office,” Dick replies with a faint smile.

“Oh,” and he nods, “Now he should be. He was heading back. Thought he came down here, but you must’ve missed him.”

“Yeah.”

The man leaves promptly, but instead of getting up from his chair, Dick reaches across his desk and lifts his office phone off the receiver. Dials Bruce’s extension; he’s one of the few people that’s allowed to do that. Even so, it goes to Bruce’s secretary, as usual. “Bruce Wayne’s office,” the warm voice says.

“Hey Christie, it’s Dick,” he smiles in hopes of sounding friendly, “Is Bruce available.”

“Just a moment,” and within seconds he hears the call being transferred. Rings the phone at Bruce’s desk, a number not found in any of the posted directories. Dick knows that extension as well, but he doesn’t want to be impolite.

Bruce’s deep voice on the line, “It’s Bruce.”

“Hey,” a bit more casual, because Bruce knows it’s him. “Do you need me?”

“You’re in your office,” Bruce suggests.

“Yeah. Just stepped out for a bit.”

“I can come down.”

Dick is about to politely object—or at least, offer to make the trip himself—but the line goes silent. Hangs up with a low sigh, because that is such a Bruce-like thing to do.

God, he misses coffee. His doctor told him to stay off it; easily one of the most difficult things he’d ever heard. “The face you just made,” she’d laughed. “I’m so sorry.”

Leans back in his chair, slowly spins to face the window. Could do far worse than the view; hazy, almost misty downtown Gotham. Cold front is settling in. Sun’s high up now, but it’s barely emerging from behind the clouds.

A light knock on the doorframe.

Glances over to see Bruce standing there, leaning into the room before they exchange a mutual look of acknowledgement. Dick says faintly, “hello stranger,” and Bruce steps into the room. Subtly pushes the door shut behind him.

Dick smirks; Bruce’s habit of being a private person only makes them more suspicious.

“Did you eat,” Bruce is asking.

Dick promptly hears a rustling; glances down to see him carrying a paper bag, folded shut with a golden sticker on it. Tilts his head, murmurs, “no,” as Bruce sets it down onto his desk.

“Ida’s,” Bruce gestures to the bag. Slides it towards him, and takes a seat in one of the adjacent chairs.

“Ooh,” Dick says, pulling the bag open. Peers inside and immediately catches a scent of freshly baked goods.

“Not sure if I got the right kind,” Bruce says. “I can send for another.”

Dick almost wants to laugh at how he phrases things. Ordinary things that almost no one thinks twice about. “I’m sure it’s fine,” and he reaches in and pulls a small wrapped bundle of paper out of the bag. Folds it open and reveals a sandwich, two golden croissants stuffed with eggs and vegetables. “Fancy,” he says.

Bruce seems content at his response.

“You didn’t get any,” Dick offers.

“I ate before I left. You were already gone.”

“Oh,” and Dick almost seems surprised at how bold he just was. Even with the door shut, it almost feels too bold for his usual standard of discretion.

Tough to argue there’s any discretion in this small errand, though.

“Thank you,” Dick says. “You didn’t have to go out of your way-”

“You came in early,” Bruce is asking.

Dick pauses, before he takes the first bite. Idly folds down more edges of the paper encasing the sandwich as he holds it carefully. “Yeah.” He nods, “I had some work to catch up on.”

“You’re taking a step back,” Bruce reminds him, with almost an implied disappointment in his tone.

“I know,” Dick nods. “But I work less hours, so… I wanna work hard when I _am_ here.”

Bruce seems to think that over in silence.

Dick chews in silence and almost smirks, when he looks at him and notices he’s been staring. Swallows that first bite. “We should do lunch later.”

“I have a meeting,” Bruce swiftly says. Slowly stands up.

“Oh. Okay.”

Bruce stands near him, presses a few fingers against the surface of his desk. “We’ll touch base before I leave.”

“Sure.”

“Don’t work too hard,” but there’s no joke in the phrase. He means it seriously.

“You can worry a little less,” Dick teases.

But there’s no humor in the look Bruce gives him. “Dinner.”

“What,” Dick almost laughs at how abrupt he is.

His eyes betray some anxiety as he glances towards the door, “Call me when you’re done.”

“Might be a little while,” Dick says. With some hesitation, “Wasn’t thinking to leave early today.”

“I’ll wait.”

“Bruce,” Dick offers.

“Yes.”

“Thanks again,” he gestures towards the sandwich in his hand, “It’s not my usual, but it’s really good.”

“I apologize,” but he then changes his response, with a faint smile, “You’re welcome.”

 

A camera flashes, and Dick quickly ducks inside the building. More flashes going off on the other side of the glass. Stands in the brightly-lit, comfortably spacious lobby and pulls out his cellphone. Leans against the wall and tries to tune out the distant flickering of those cameras as he sighs slowly and holds his phone up to his ear.

“Hey, Donna,” he almost drawls. “I’m here.”

A brief pause, and he almost laughs, “I’m like, two minutes early. It’s okay,” and he almost pouts. “I can wait.” He cautions her, but in a kind tone, “I hope you chose a good look. They followed me again.”

Exchanges a brief glance with someone who walks past him. Leaves his jacket on, for the time being. It’s warm in here but he’s less recognizable with it than without.

Remembers what he’s here to do, and feels that tension run through him. From his feet and up, a weight that’s gradually tugging him downward. Inhales deeply and exhales slowly, ends the call and waits.

He’s never liked waiting, much. Gets restless.

Looks at the far wall, at a clock that seems to be moving slower than it should.

 

“By the way,” Donna says, as she turns to face him. “I have a present for you.”

“Oh,” he smirks at her, as he drapes his jacket over the back of the couch.

“Catch,” and she tosses him something aerodynamic and shiny; a magazine he catches with both hands, studying the cover as he straightens it out.

“Ah,” he says. Remarks cooly, “She looks really good.”

“Not what I mean, smartass,” Donna quips. “See that bottom headline?”

“The tiny one about this Grayson guy,” he suggests. Almost laughs to himself, “I’m sick of hearing about this dude.”

“Very cute,” she crosses her arms. “Anyway, I won’t make you read it, but there’s a little gossip blurb about your… recent disappearances.”

“Disappearances,” he raises his eyebrows, setting the magazine down onto the coffee table.

“Yes,” she strolls over, taking a seat on the couch. Looks at him and bats her eyelashes, “Darting into mysterious buildings, cutting your work days short… always in a hurry to see someone.”

“Oh,” he says faintly.

“You have a mystery woman,” she says calmly, a hint of humor in her expression.

“Is she pretty,” he asks.

“Gorgeous,” she almost purrs. Turns her lips into an exaggerated pout. “Long, dark hair, dramatic eyes, stellar fashion-”

“I’m a lucky man,” he grins wide.

“Your _best_ friend,” she says sharply.

“You’re my mystery woman,” his eyes grow wide.

“Congratulations,” she smirks.

“That’s great,” he almost laughs. Seems to think it over, and nods to himself, “I like that story.”

“I don’t,” she almost growls. “How am I supposed to get a man now?”

Dick laughs out loud.

“How can I convince anyone to go on a date with me,” she outstretches her hands dramatically. “When I’m connected to the most _handsome_ bachelor in Gotham.”

“Thank you.”

She sighs, loud and mournfully. “There are photos…”

“I bet you look _awesome_ ,” he says.

“I do,” she pauses for emphasis, “but that’s not the point.”

He laughs faintly.

“You can’t just,” and she leans back into the couch, her long hair spilling over the pillows behind her, “tell them you’re dating a man, or something?”

“Huh,” he makes a contemplative sound.

She gives him a sideways look.

“Hadn’t thought about that.”

“Really,” but there’s no judgment in her question.

“I guess it’s a pretty small reveal,” he says cryptically, “in the scheme of things.”

“Small compared to what,” and she catches herself. “Dating your dad, I guess.”

“He’s not my-”

“I know, dear,” she smiles at him. “But they don’t.” She shrugs, “not until you tell them, anyway.”

“Then they’ll call me a liar.”

She gives him a brief look of concern, sensing the weight behind what he just said.

“Can’t win ‘em all, though.” His eyes trail across the room, to the large windows that peer out into the city, towers in the distance and a haze of gray gathering above them. Tilts his head at a familiar sound, a familiar rhythm he’s gotten so accustomed to. “It’s raining again.”

“Aww,” she says. “It was so nice out earlier.”

Dick doesn’t say anything. Continues to stare out the window, as if it holds an answer he’s looking for.

“Hey,” and she leans forward, closing the space between them just slightly. Even if it still feels like miles. “You okay.”

He shrugs. Slow and heavy. “So about my relationship,” and he almost smirks at how serious that sounds. Saunters closer to shed some of his nervous energy. Sits down on the couch, near the edge; close enough to seem familiar, but still comfortably far enough to dissipate some of the tension.

“Yes,” she grins, but her eyes betray a tinge of concern.

“I wanna tell you something,” he crosses his arms over his chest, and noticeably continues to keep his eyes far away. Continues to watch the windows, studies the rain slowly blanketing the glass. “Before I tell everyone else.”

“Okay,” she says hesitantly.

“I mean I’m not,” and he scratches his arm. “I’m not telling them right away, I just… maybe soon. I don’t know,” he shrugs. Tilts his head, “I’m running out of time.”

“Time for what-”

“You’re my best friend,” and there’s a sentimentality to those words that gives her pause. A difficult resonance. An air of seriousness. “I love you.”

“You’re not…” and she looks at him intently, “dying or something, are you.”

He suddenly laughs, caught off-guard, “Wow.”

She almost whistles, her expression relaxing a bit, “Thank God.”

“I mean, eventually,” his chest shakes from pent-up laughter.

“I just wanted to make sure,” she whines. “You sound so serious.”

“I am,” he says.

He hasn’t looked at her for several minutes now. She glances at his eyes, as if noticing.

“You know how some… some weeks, like, about a month or two ago I mentioned I wanted to do something. I was thinking about something serious.”

She pouts. Purses her lips with some confusion. “Adopting a dog?”

He closes his eyes in a slow blink.

“Redecorating?” She reaches out, and nudges a loosely closed fist against his leg, “Are you finally upgrading that stupid manor? It’s so ugly, Dick.”

He sends her a sharp look.

“It is _so_ ugly and _old,_ the furniture, the colors… I hate it.”

“Donna,” he whines.

“Sorry, sweetie,” she says, coyly. “You’re gonna have to be more specific.”

He nods, just one time. Before she can read his expression, he’s turning away again. Leans back and seems to sink lower. “I’m doing something you told me not to.”

“Shocking,” she says flatly. “Lemme guess. Keeping big secrets from me.”

“I’m telling you now,” he suggests.

“Sure,” she says. “Before you tell the whole world.”

“I don’t know when I can tell them,” he says faintly.

She sighs. Stares him down, and whatever humor she found in this situation is quickly evaporating. The more he stalls, the heavier the air between them feels. “Dick,” she says, pointedly. “Just say it.”

He makes an incomprehensible sound, something between a grumble and another sigh.

“Quit dancing around.”

“Mm,” he acknowledges. But says nothing.

“If you can't tell me,” she rests her face against her hand, “how are you gonna tell everybody else. Rip the band-aid off.”

“I know,” but he says it almost impulsively. Too swiftly. “It’s just… I’ve only said this like… twice before.”

“Dang, I’m not even the second person.”

He chuckles, “Well I told Wally, cause he was there when I found out.”

“Of course you did,” she rolls her eyes, with obvious humor. “Wait. Found out?”

He almost shivers, but he finally turns to look at her. Directly. His eyes almost sympathetic, like he’s pre-emptively asking for forgiveness. “Yeah.”

“This isn't…” her voice lowers, and she’s down to a near whisper, “about the _lovely_ conversation we had about getting serious with you know who… is it.”

“I love you Donna,” Dick smiles at her.

“Oh my god?”

“You’re my favorite person,” he grins from ear to ear.

“You can't.”

“I’d never do anything to hurt you, Donna.”

“I'm telling you not to for a reason,” she raises her eyebrows for emphasis, dark-framed eyes wide and dramatic. “Why don't you ever listen to me? We'll get you a dog or something. It'll fill that... niche.”

“You're my favoritest-” his expression falls, “ _and_ it's too late to make that suggestion.” He frowns dramatically, “I'm sorry.”

“Dick-”

“Please don't hate me.”

She gives a low, mournful sigh.

“Donna,” he whines.

“Dick,” she whines back at him, dramatically hitting her head against the couch pillows in frustration.

“Donna?”

She gestures at him, holding up her pointer finger, “give me a minute.”

He waits.

“Okay,” and she looks up again. “Give this to me straight.”

“Okay,” he tilts his head, as if hesitant.

“You and Bruce, you’re…  You’re… taking this to the next level,” her lips stretch into a thin line. “Right.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re doing the family thing,” she almost sighs again, “that wonderful thing I told you not to.”

“Yeah-”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he asks, as if to verify something.

She looks at him, with an almost thinly veiled sarcasm. “Well,” and she shrugs, “You’ve done worse.”

He bites his lip, but his eyes show amusement.

She gives him another intent stare, but her face isn’t so serious anymore. She blinks slowly, and says, “Come here.” Pats down on the cushion next to her and looks back at him, as if waiting.

He gives her a curious look.

“I’m not gonna hit you or anything,” she almost laughs. “You’re an idiot, but you’re _my_ idiot.”

He shrugs dramatically, but he does smile as he slides closer. She takes the opportunity, now that he’s close enough, to put a hand on his shoulder. Idly pats it before changing her mind and pulling him into a loose embrace.

He’s hugging her back, and he finally starts to relax. She puts a firm hand on his back and is almost amazed at how heavy he suddenly feels, like he’s been tense all this time and is finally starting to surrender to gravity.

She says quietly, “You're gonna be such a good dad.”

“I hope so,” and he almost wants to say more. But he stifles it. Swallows it into silence.

“Even if he’s not.”

“Donna-”

“I know,” she sighs faintly. “I’m sorry.” She pats his back. “I know.”

Dick is still sinking. Slowly. Rests the weight of his body against her, and the silence starts to feel blissful.

“So are you,” she ventures delicately, gently, “adopting, or…”

“It’s like I said. It’s too late to change my mind.” He remarks, dryly, “very late.”

Her eyes widen slightly. “How… many weeks.”

“Ten.”

“Oh my god,” but she almost laughs. Runs a hand down his back, but her tone is light-hearted. “You do not waste time.”

“Mm,” but there’s some amusement there.

She lightly hits him, a gentle fist against his shoulder. “You jerk. You were trying before you asked me.”

“Maybe,” he buries his face against her shoulder. “Probably.”

She laughs faintly. “You’re so rude.”

 

A cup of coffee on the table, but it’s slowly going cold. He taps his fingers against it; lets his wedding ring chime against the porcelain as he hears the window behind him open, just slightly.

“A bit early for you, isn’t it.”

His eyes are tired and he idly adjusts his glasses before turning around.

“Good evening,” that familiar silhouette leaning against the wall, black and red.

“I looked into that lead,” Gordon says. “Nice work. That’ll lead us to half of these bastards before they even know we’re on their trail.”

“I aim to please,” Jason says, with an almost sultry lean as he stretches his arms out.

“You expecting something from me,” Gordon asks with some humor. “Or do you have more intel.”

“I got plenty,” he says. Steps forward, and tosses a small item into the air. Gordon catches it with his hand, and opens his palm. A USB drive. “Can’t tell you my methods,” Jason teases, “but I’m sure you’ll figure out a way to make that appear legal.”

“Why do I get the feeling I shouldn’t be holding this,” but he says it with a faint grin.

“They sure wouldn’t like it,” Jason says. “Not one bit.”

“Hm,” it’s a quiet, thoughtful sound and he sets the drive down onto the table. Lets some thoughts turn over for a bit. Hears the familiar echo of footsteps, and he realizes he’s about to lose him. So before he does-

“You’re different,” Gordon says.

The footsteps stop.

“You know,” and he almost shakes his head, “I’ve known that kid since he was a small little thing, running around in the shadows.”

A faint sound of acknowledgement.

“It was so spooky, you know,” and he lets a genuine smile overtake his face, “this faint little laughter ringing out in the middle of the alley. Echoing from the roof. Like a ghost, just… laughing at nothing. At some joke you didn’t catch.”

Gordon turns to face Jason again, to confront the shadow directly. But he doesn’t end his story just yet. “He doesn’t do that much anymore. He’s a professional now. He’s suave, he’s cool. He’s got a presence, like his old man.” A pause. “He’s got a certain way he does business, and it’s not what you’re selling.”

“Ah,” Jason says faintly.

“You’ve got their skills,” Gordon smirks at him. “But I can’t place which one you are.”

Jason tilts his head, with some contemplation.

“I’m sure we’ve met,” Gordon says. “But the arms of your family run so deep,” his eyes widen slightly, “I can’t place you, and it’s gonna drive me up a wall.”

“Laughing at nothing, huh,” Jason finally says.

“Not _nothing_ ,” Gordon corrects him. “I’m sure he found plenty of amusement in those fights.”

“It’s not about the fight,” Jason finds a moment of seriousness. Idly wrings his hands together, “It’s the challenge. The experience. Pushing yourself beyond the point of reason. Going out there to do the impossible, knowing deep down that you _can_.”

Gordon’s face lights up with a genuine smile. “Red Hood.”

He almost laughs. “What gave me away.”

“I told you,” he smirks. “I’ve known that boy since he was scrawny and short. I’ve known your family for longer.”

“You’re a good friend to the Batman,” Jason teases.

“He’s been an excellent friend to me,” Gordon says, assuredly. “How do you think I still have this job. Half of it is my intelligence,” and he gives a wink, “the other half is a charitable support system that keeps my best people employed and their benefits limitless.”

“Talk about job security,” Jason says dryly.

“It’s all about quality, kid,” Gordon says. “I’ll do what I can to keep them happy and on my team. Thankfully him and I see eye to eye on that priority.”

“Huh,” Jason shrugs. “Wonder what that’s like.”

“Well,” and Gordon finally leans back, getting more comfortable in his chair. Content to let the atmosphere between them settle. “Clearly someone thinks highly of you.”

Jason tilts his head.

“Quite the compliment, wearing that suit,” Gordon nods.

“Just doing a favor for a friend,” Jason says cheekily.

“Keep it up,” Gordon says. Taps his fingers against the USB drive that’s sitting where he left it, near his coffee mug. “I’m sure you’re just moonlighting, but… I appreciate you being around.”

Silence.

He sighs deeply, and turns to look over his shoulder. Almost laughs at the vast darkness of the room. “Some things never change, do they.”

 

The windshield wipers erase another curtain of rain, as heavy raindrops continue to pelt against the glass. Keeps one hand on the steering wheel, the other restlessly tapping against his leg as he stares ahead into the washed-out landscape. Pulls up to a stop light and briefly wonders if he’s going the right way.

Yes.

“You can’t just leave right now,” one of his subordinates had said.

“I can do anything I want.” It was a rare show of his authority. Everyone in the company was well aware of it, but it felt strange to put someone in their place, especially an employee he’d granted the honor of working right beneath him.

“You can’t just leave every time they ask you for something,” that man said. Normally a level-headed person, a person of sharp mind. “Your family understands how important this is. They know how significant, how game-changing these discussions are. They’ll forgive you for being a few minutes late.”

Sure they would. But it doesn’t matter. He wouldn’t forgive himself.

He’s banking on the fact that it’s nothing serious. He’s planning to return to work in a couple hours at most, to close the deal as planned. But he’d never want to get the call, and not answer when it was something worth worrying about.

Especially not with him.

Green light, and he takes the next turn.

 

When he arrives at the manor, Alfred greets him promptly. Opens the door with a polite, if not surprised, “good afternoon, master Bruce,” and keeps his voice a touch too polite. He takes Bruce’s coat, but he’s not oblivious to the expression on Bruce’s face. The tension. The eyes that look through him, scanning the vast hallway for signs of a disturbance, of anything significant.

“If you are searching for Master Richard, you’ll find him at the end of the hall.” He specifies, almost uncomfortably, “in the sitting room.”

“Has he said anything,” Bruce asks.

“No. That’s the worrisome part,” Alfred’s eyes remain downcast as he hangs Bruce’s coat on a stand near the door. “He’s silent as a church mouse.”

Bruce frowns to himself, as his eyes roam the hallway.

Alfred tells him, “I advise you to approach… gently.”

Bruce gives Alfred an intent, final look to allow him to finish his thought before starting his descent down the hallway.

“I fear he is… somehow worse for the wear.”

 

He’s barely acknowledged when he walks in the room. Dick makes a faint breathing sound, mournful like a slow sigh through tightly closed lips. Blinks one time and doesn’t move from where he is; it takes Bruce a minute to notice him there.

In the far corner. Sitting on the floor, back against the wall. When Bruce takes a few steps closer, Dick’s eyes finally shift up to him. Even so, the closer Bruce gets, the more apparent Dick’s lack of a response is. The more concerning.

Bruce kneels in front of him and Dick stares at him like something inhuman, something mechanical. Almost afraid to do the wrong thing, Bruce reaches out and puts a hand on Dick’s shoulder.

At this, Dick’s mouth finally curves into a wide grin. His eyes show a small trace of mirth, but Bruce is noticing how heavy they are. “That’s your answer for everything,” Dick teases faintly.

Bruce seems confused at his comment, but he hesitates to voice his objection.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with this kid,” Dick attempts to keep his tone light, but the more words he uses, the more his voice cracks, his throat tight and rough. “Maybe if I put a hand on his shoulder,” he laughs faintly. He bows his head slightly, “There’s a good boy.”

“Dick…” Bruce makes the attempt, however cautious.

Dick’s avoiding direct eye contact, as his mouth turns into something resembling a grimace, “It’s okay, kid. Daddy’s here.”

“Dick,” Bruce tries again.

When Dick looks up at him, Bruce doesn’t feel prepared. His eyes are glossy, his face flushed. His voice is colder than it’s been in a while, “What, Bruce. How can I help you.”

“Are you alright.”

Dick blinks slowly, and a single tear spills down but he doesn’t seem to notice. “Sure.” But he gives Bruce an almost thoughtful look, his expression softening as Bruce finally withdraws his hand. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“You called,” Bruce clarifies.

Dick shakes his head, but with minimal effort. Minimal motion. “Yeah, but I was just… being moody.” He scoffs, but it’s not from humor. Something dark. “I didn’t think you’d take it seriously.”

Bruce doesn’t see the joke in it.

“Ugh, god,” and he finally reaches up to wipe at the corner of his eye. “I don’t even know what I said.”

Bruce relocates slightly, settling in for the long haul. He moves to sit beside him, along the wall.

“Are you alright,” Bruce asks again.

Dick smirks at him, “that’s not what I said, for _sure_.” But when he attempts to keep the gag running, an exhausted sigh escapes instead. “No. I’m not.”

Bruce seems more content with that answer. Because it means Dick is being honest.

“I’m sorry you’re missing work for this,” Dick clarifies. He glances towards him, before looking away as if uncertain, “You don’t really have to be here.”

“Yes,” his response is swift, “I do.”

“No, it’s…” Dick shrugs, “It’s a fuckin’ mood swing, you know.” He shrugs, trying to lift the weight off his own shoulders. “You have more important things to worry about. I mean with the new earnings report, you’re really-”

“No,” Bruce cuts him off.

Dick gives him a curious look.

Bruce nods one time. “The earnings will be there when I get back.”

“What, like I wouldn’t be,” Dick asks with some dark humor. “You think I’m gonna run away or something.”

“I don’t care about the report’s feelings,” Bruce says.

That makes Dick laugh, even if it is raspy and hollow. “Well thank you for caring about mine,” he says with a touch of warmth.

Bruce extends his arm, reaches out and gently tugs Dick towards his shoulder. Dick takes the hint and moves closer, close enough to be pressed against his side. Head resting against Bruce’s shoulder and when he sighs, Bruce feels his body rattle.

Bruce doesn’t make another attempts with words, just yet. Smooths his hand on Dick’s opposite shoulder, gripping it silent encouragement.

“You’re doing it again,” Dick says lightly. “Do you like my shoulders that much,” but there’s a grin at the edge of his lips.

Bruce isn’t sure what to say, he just holds him a little closer.

“You know,” Dick pauses, his eyes traveling slightly. Towards a grand window at the edge of the room, casting sunlight across the floor. “I used to hate this room.”

Bruce frowns.

“Those curtains are so ugly,” he almost scoffs. “And they’re so giant, and heavy. I stare at them too long, I feel like they’re gonna fall on me. Like they wanna sink.”

“Dick,” Bruce starts to show his impatience.

“Babe, I’m getting there,” he cuts him off, but it’s in a gentle tone.

Bruce restrains himself from further comment.

“They’re so ugly, and they seemed so large when I was a kid. So tall.” He frowns. “But I was just standing right by them, right now.” He nods towards Bruce, “Right before you showed up. And… either they’re a bit small, or I somehow got a lot bigger than I used to be.”

“Dick,” Bruce makes another attempt. “What’s going on.”

“Wow,” Dick’s eyes widen slightly, “You don’t mess around, do you.”

“Dick,” as a reprimand.

“Bruce,” he parrots back, with some humor. But he says with more clarity, “I’m saying I’m not scared of them anymore.”

Bruce makes a faint sound, somewhere from the back of his throat.

“I’m a lot taller, and I’m stronger than I used to be.” He tightens his lips into a thin smile. “I’ve started telling people.”

Bruce gives a slow nod. There it is.

“It’s actually… going well so far.”

“Mm.”

“But I’m almost done with the easy ones,” there’s a change in his tone. He’s chewing on his bottom lip between the words, “Then it’s… all the difficult ones.”

“Difficult,” Bruce frowns.

Dick hears the question in his voice. “Yeah. People that aren’t gonna be happy with me at all.”

“That’s their concern,” Bruce says swiftly.

“No,” Dick almost laughs. “That’s… that’s not how it works.”

Bruce says nothing.

Dick smirks at him, “I need to tell people I care about. I think… they’re gonna be really mad at me.” He sinks further against Bruce. His face rests at the base of his neck as his voice gets quieter. “How am I supposed to do that.”

“Tell the truth,” Bruce says.

“No,” Dick says, with a faint exhale. “I can’t burn these bridges.”

“They love you,” Bruce says.

Dick almost smirks at that, but his eyes are heavy.

Bruce traces his fingertips over Dick’s shoulder in a faint caress. “They’ll forgive you. If they don’t…” his bluntness startles Dick. “They don’t love you enough.”

“I’m not sure it works that way.”

“You’re spending too much time worrying about them. If they’re angry with you,” and he speaks slow, with precision, “send them to me.”

Dick’s lip turns up slightly, “You’re gonna fight them for me.”

“If they’re hurtful towards you, I don’t want them near you.”

“Really?”

“You’re carrying too much weight,” Bruce says.

Dick fidgets, his hand idly scratching at his arm.

“Don’t drag your feet,” Bruce allows himself to be a little stern. “Tell them and move on.”

“To what,” Dick almost whispers.

“Taking care of your baby.”

Dick noticeably shivers. He bows his head and crawls into Bruce’s lap, as if in sudden need of comfort.

Bruce responds by winding his arms around him. “Are you alright,” he asks in a low tone.

“It’s easy to forget what it’s all for,” Dick says. “I think my priorities are getting skewed.”

“Step down from Wayne Corp,” Bruce says suddenly.

“I already am-”

“Completely.”

Dick lets the weight of his body sink against him.

“Stop doing press.”

“But that’s-”

“You’re taking care of your family. You don’t have time for them,” he remarks, referencing Dick’s own interviews. “You’re allowed to blame me.”

“Bruce made me stop talking to you guys,” Dick teases.

“Bruce told me to focus on my well-being.”

Dick almost blushes for a fleeting instant, and he smiles to himself. Says in a small voice, “Because Bruce loves me.”

“Yes.”

Dick laughs through sealed lips, his chest shaking with silent humor.

“The press will always be there,” Bruce says, running a hand up Dick’s back. “They’re inconsequential.”

“I can’t escape them,” Dick says quietly.

“Tell them to fuck themselves.”

Dick audibly laughs.

Bruce almost shrugs, but the humor of his abrasive tone isn’t entirely lost. He grins faintly.

But… Dick sighs.

“What are you most concerned about,” Bruce asks.

“I have to tell Tim,” Dick says.

“Mm.”

“And Jason, and Cass, and Babs, and Steph, and-”

“Tell them the truth.”

“They’re gonna be mad-”

“Why,” it’s an honest question, spoken in a blunt tone.

“Because I lied to them. I’ve been lying to them for so long.” He adds in a half-whispered tone, “I even think they’d be happy for me if it wasn’t…”

“With me,” Bruce suggests.

“Yeah,” but it’s heavy with disappointment, as if he doesn’t want to voice it.

“Send them to me.”

“What,” Dick grins, but he’s more bewildered than anything else.

“Blame me.”

“That’s not fair,” Dick says, his face against Bruce’s chest.

“I can handle it.”

“That’s not fair to you,” Dick repeats, voice partially muffled.

“I’m not asking.”

Dick closes his eyes. “It’s not that simple. I love them,” his voice fragile. Inhales deeply and it’s raw and unsteady. “I don’t want to let them down.”

“Dick.” He trails a hand up Dick’s back, slow and affectionate, from the base of his spine of his shoulders. “It’s too late for that concern.”

Dick nods, and his eyes are starting to turn glossy.

“There’s nothing you can do about your fear of disappointing them.” Bruce keeps his voice calm. Level. “But you are entitled to their forgiveness.”

“Really,” Dick says faintly.

“You deserve nothing less.”

“I don’t know what I deserve,” Dick says cynically.

“Everything.”

“Huh,” but he smiles faintly. “I don’t know which lie to reveal first,” he says. “Is it more important than I’m…” and he almost blushes at the word, “pregnant or is it more important that I love you.” He looks up at Bruce. “How much do I tell them.”

“What you’re comfortable with.”

“I’m comfortable with none of it,” Dick gives a slanted grin.

Bruce gives that a genuine, significant moment of thought. Eyes heavy in a slow blink. “Do what you have to do. Throw me under the bus.”

Dick tilts his head, “I’m still not gonna do that.” He gives a tight-laced smile. “I can’t. I mean, we’re… We’re in this together, right. I’m not gonna let you be a martyr.”

“Dick.”

He shakes his head. “I’m putting my foot down.”

Bruce seals his lips tightly together.

But it seems that even Dick is running low on words. Lets his fingertips ghost over Bruce’s face, as if he’s not sure what to do with them before his hand falls away.

“I love you,” Bruce says.

Dick’s eyes are welling up, but he fights it back with a smile. “I know. …Thank you for coming home,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry about your meeting-”

“It’ll all be there tomorrow.”

Dick leans forward and kisses him, square on the mouth. Bruce runs his hand along the side of his face, and Dick leans forward and kisses him again, as if the first time wasn’t enough.

“I love you too,” Dick says. “But I’m really tired now. You going back to work? Close out your day.”

“What do you want.”

“I want to sleep a bit,” Dick grins. “I won’t notice if you’re gone for a while.”

“Mm,” Bruce tilts his head.

“But if you’d rather stay and hold me, that’s...”

“Mm,” Bruce nods.

 

“Mr. Wayne,” a polite voice, a courteous hand gestures to the stage, empty except for a single podium and the large backdrop of Wayne Corporation’s logo illuminated on the wall behind it. “It’s all yours.”

Dick nods, a charming smile as he turns towards the immense platform. He makes his way forward to the greeting of flash bulb lights and a murmured flutter of voices from his audience. Keeps his posture upright, his suit freshly ironed and he is a composed, classic silhouette of everything they want him to be. Confident and reserved as he stands behind the podium and gently presses his hands against its surface, as if to focus his thoughts.

“Good evening,” and it’s the first time in a while he has anxiety but the smile masks it well. “First of all, you may’ve noticed this little message in your inbox this past week, but,” he lets his grin settle in naturally, “we have just closed our most profitable quarter in the last five years for Wayne Corp.”

Sudden applause. It’s professional and orderly, but the encouragement is real; the energy is strong. “Thank you for all that you have done,” he nods, leaning towards the mic slightly, “to each and every one of you for making this company great. I have complete confidence in our future.”

He straightens his back, as there’s more applause. But his smile is feeling heavy and he lets his face fall to its neutral state. Lets his eyes roam the room, to see faces new and recognized, forces his mind to shut out the concern of what he’s about to say.

They won’t like it. They won’t like it one bit.

“I have been privileged to be integrally involved in this history of success. I have been given a great honor in my ability to contribute as much as I have. It is an obligation I have not taken lightly.” A slow blink, a moment to gather more words. To remember the words he rehearsed in front of the mirror this morning. “It is my hope that I have… contributed enough to sustain this company through any unsteady tides or controversy I may cause.”

He glances at his audiences. Tense gestures. Frowns, uncertain stares. The tone is changing into something more somber.

“It is with pride, admiration and genuine belief in our future… that I am returning this power I have been given to its source. I transfer my responsibilities back to my efficient, determined and talented team. Effective immediately, I am taking an indefinite leave of absence from this company to focus on my health.”

The audience starts to make noise, conversations among themselves and half-thought questions.

“I thank you all for your support during this time. I have full confidence in Bruce Wayne’s ability to help make this transition as seamless as possible.” A single nod, and he speaks quickly, before he can show any hesitation, “I would deeply appreciate your respect for my privacy.”

Turns to step down from the stage, passing a few tense faces and more than one bewildered expression as he makes his way through a small wave of suits and concerned voices. A hand reaches out, as if to stop him, but it’s restrained enough for him to politely ignore. He straightens his tie and does his best to tune out the murmur, the lights, the noise swelling from the floor.

So much noise. Everywhere.

 

Within two hours, he receives a text message. _Dude. Balls of STEEL._

Typical Roy.

It’s promptly followed by another; and a short conversation, which led to a very insistent promise that yes, they would meet up as soon as possible, and yes, they would catch up a bit. Or a lot, as Roy is feeling suddenly _incredibly_ out of the loop.

Dick isn’t thrilled about it, but Roy deserves this much from him. Well, Roy deserves better, but this is a start.

Time to pull the band-aid off. One wound at a time.

 

It’s raining hard when Dick walks to his car, rain dripping into his eyes and soaking through his jacket. Opens the car door, gets in and slams it closed as the rain bears down mercilessly against the windshield.

He wipes at his face with his hand, sweeps his wet hair out of his eyes. Should have brought an umbrella. Always forgets how far Roy’s front door is from the street.

Glances towards the house. No sign of life over there.

He puts his keys in the ignition. Fires up the car and lets it idle while he messes with the heater. Not sure what he’s waiting for.

Sniffles slightly, breathes heavy and looks at the house again.

Nothing.

 

Roy answers the phone with some hesitation, gently freeing his arm from Lian’s grasp as she stares at him with curious eyes. “Hello.”

“What did you do,” the voice on the other end is abrupt. A harsh tone, for Wally.

“What,” Roy frowns. “Hold on.” He sighs faintly, motioning to Lian. “Honey, give me some space. Daddy needs space.” She makes a face at him, and sidles a little further down the table. Continues to stare at him, even as she crosses her arms on the table and leans onto them.

“Okay, what now,” Roy says back to the phone.

“You know exactly what,” and Roy can’t remember the last time Wally was this… irritated. That’s got to be it, right. That’s the best descriptor. Irritated.

“What,” and Roy’s turning into a broken record, so he tries a different response. “Is this about Dickie. Cause that was-”

“Unacceptable,” Wally cuts him off.

“Hey, hold on a minute-”

“If you ever talk to him like that again, I will deal with you myself.”

Roy’s jaw falls slack. “Huh,” as he collects himself. “Do you even know what’s going on here.”

Wally makes a faint sound on the line, but it’s indistinguishable.

“I don’t know what he told you, but I didn’t say anything that was _that_ bad.” He presses his fingertips above his eyes. “We had a disagreement, we’ve had _plenty_ of those before-”

“So this is par for the course,” and Roy can feel the bite behind those words.

“Not really, but-”

“Do you have any idea what he’s been going through lately?”

“I guess.”

“He comes to you in good faith, because you’re his _friend_ and you react like this. Are you fucking twelve years old.”

“Look, I honestly don’t know what the big deal is.”

Silence.

“I’d love to know, and I’d love to apologize for what horrible thing I did, but I honestly don’t know. He showed up, he told me some… honestly, unpleasant things, we talked it out, he got a bit miffed and left. It happens.”

“It happens.”

“Yeah. He’s hormonal, I guess. Shit happens.”

“Shit happens.”

“Yeah. What’s your deal, man?”

“You being an asshole is my deal.”

“Okay, that’s not nice.”

Silence.

Roy’s getting tired of it already. “Listen, can we talk about this later, or…”

“We don’t need to,” Wally snaps at him.

Roy frowns.

“I want you to think for a long while about this, and I want you to realize that you were completely out of line.”

“Hey. You can’t tell me what to-”

“And if you _don’t_ believe you were out of line and being an insufferable asshole, I want you to keep thinking about it until that is remarkably clear to you.”

“Dang,” Roy almost sighs. “Really. It’s gonna be like this?”

More fuckin’ silence.

“Look, it’s not our first disagreement. He knows how I feel about it. He obviously expected some negative response, or he wouldn’t have waited so long to tell me. He knew I wasn’t gonna like it. So if he went and cried to you, I’m sorry but he knew how I felt, and he knew what to expect.”

“Do you actually hear yourself when you talk.”

“The hell does that mean,” he keeps his voice calm, so Lian doesn’t get too interested in his conversation. She’s still listening, but luckily she’s seeming rather bored with it.

“He knew you wouldn’t like it, okay. Fine. So that gives you permission to call him names, and essentially tell him to fuck himself?”

“I did… not use those words.”

Wally clears his throat, audibly. “You called him _desperate_ -”

“Can we _not_ do this?”

“You accused him of not being your friend, since he didn’t tell you sooner-”

“Yeah, which is a valid point-”

“You said he’s sunk to a new low of shame and _embarrassment_ -”

 “Where are you pulling this from,” Roy’s eyes widen slightly. He didn’t even remember that one.

“You called him a liar, said he’s being _rotten_ to his friends-”

“Context,” Roy sighs.

“There’s more, if your memory needs a bit more jogging,” Wally says.

“Did he seriously just sit down and tell you all this, or…”

“He called me. He needed to vent,” Wally says. “Since one of his friends was unavailable for unknown reasons.”

“Come the heck on,” Roy sinks back into his chair.

“My personal favorite line…”

Roy swallows hard.

“ _This mistake will haunt you for the rest of your life.”_

That’s not the exact wording. But the exact wording wasn’t any better.

“ _You’ve fucked up so bad, I’m not sure I want to help you._ ”

This he remembers.

Before he told him to leave if he didn’t like his response, because it was the only honest one he could give. So Dick stood up, turned and left.

He didn’t say anything else. He just nodded, and left.

“Listen,” Wally says in a more calm tone. “I get that you don’t like it.”

“Yeah-”

“None of us do,” Wally emphasizes. “Donna hates the two of them together. You know that. I don’t trust Bruce as far as I can see him,” Wally says plainly.

“Right.”

“And you’ve got your own reasons for not liking him, either. I get that.”

“Right.”

“But Donna and I somehow find it within ourselves to support our friend, even if we disagree with his choices, because he is our friend and we care about him. Do you understand that concept.”

“Excuse me for speaking my mind,” Roy says with some sarcasm.

“Excuse you for being an asshole? Okay.”

Roy slowly, dramatically hits his head against the surface of the table with some frustration.

“Listen, I need you to understand his situation. He knows he’s knee deep in it, Roy. He knows he’s in a pond of shit.”

“I’m not sure I believe that.”

“He _knows_. Trust me.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Would he choose to do this again? Maybe.”

“Of course he would. He’s stubborn as-”

“But he wouldn’t have lied to us about it, that’s for damn sure. He would’ve been more honest. I’m pretty sure that’s why you’re so mad, right. It caught you off-guard, and you don’t like surprises.”

“Because we’re supposed to be friends-”

“Yeah. Donna felt the same way.”

“Mm.”

“But she knew better than to _tell_ him that, and they ended _their_ conversation with a hug, and some very nice words.”

“Donna’s more forgiving than I am,” Roy says dryly.

“She just knows better than to yell at her stressed, emotional, _and_ pregnant friend.”

Roy sighs audibly.

“Like you get that, right? Shit’s hitting the fan, and there’s more shit that will very, very soon. To be blunt, he does not have _time_ or _energy_ to worry about your feelings right now.”

“Then what’s the point…”

“Indeed, what is the point,” Wally almost growls.

Roy rolls his eyes.

“Listen. I am your friend. I am also his friend. I want you both to get along. I would love it if we could all put our individual gripes aside and do what’s best for him, even if, _yes_ , he’s been a little bit of an asshole. He does that. You know how he is. He gets stuck in his own world, and does things we don’t like very much. Oopsy-daisy.”

“Right.”

“You don’t have to like Bruce. You don’t have to like that he’s doing this. But respectfully? I don’t give a fuck.”

“ _Ow_.”

“If you can’t be the bigger man about this, I need you to keep your distance from him until you can.”

“Seriously?”

Wally clears his throat again. _“Are you sure he’s the one for you?”_

This one was bad.

“ _I can’t believe you settled for that piece of shit._ Like, you understand the severity of this, right.”

“Sure.”

“You called his partner a piece of shit. Life partner. The one person on the entire planet that he chose to start a family with. A person that has done _nothing to you_ besides being a bit unpleasant.”

“I guess.”

 Wally clarifies his point. “There’s a line. You crossed it. You see that?”

“Yeah,” and he shrugs, but this is feeling pretty heavy and that doesn’t help. “Sorry.”

“Anyway. Believe it or not, I don’t want to spend my entire night berating you. So lemme just say this.” He inhales sharply. “You’re supposed to be his friend. If you can’t be his friend right now, step out and don’t come back until you _can_ be.”

“Okay?”

“I don’t know what makes you think you can run your mouth off, but nobody talks to my best friend that way. Not even you.”

He hung up.

Lian asks, in a small voice, “What’s wrong, daddy?”

“Daddy made someone pretty mad,” Roy says quietly.

“That’s not nice, daddy.”

“No, it isn’t,” he says.

 

He’s sinking into the couch. Three days off work, now. Dick feels like he’s planned for everything except the boredom.

Well, that and the loneliness. But it’s difficult to see much of anyone. He left Wayne Corp to a lot of resentment and bitterness; the few fond connections he made there were quickly severed. No one believes his health situation is realistic. Reports range from fearing the absolute worst—predicting that he’s secretly on the edge of death—to accusing him of being a dramatic brat, stirring up headlines so he can vanish into obscurity to, presumably, party it up without any obligations.

That would be nice.

Bruce is the rock in the storm. He shouldered the burden of open projects, meetings, appointments and press releases that Dick was scheduled to fill. He’s done well at keeping quiet on the personal details. He does little except repeat Dick’s request for privacy, and to politely state that his personal health will not be discussed without his permission.

Dick hasn’t said a word to him about what happened with Roy. What’s the point, anyway.

He reaches over, fumbling clumsily for the nearest pillow. A small, fluffy pillow with blue and golden threads. It’s not _that_ ugly. He’s come to like the Manor’s dated aesthetic. Nostalgic and comforting, these old and familiar images and colors from his youth.

He looks at the pillow for a moment, sighs faintly and presses it over his face. Exhales with stress into it, and wonders if anyone would hear him yelling right now.

No sense in worrying Alfred. He sits quietly and wonders if he can sleep some of this off.

 

He awakens to the sound of a nearby door opening, and a quiet, if not enthusiastic conversation. He can’t place who it is. He recognizes Alfred’s polite, quiet tone. The other, though…

Footsteps coming closer, as he sits up. Blinks slowly, frowns to let his eyes adjust.

Huh?

“How are you always this attractive,” Jason says, leaning down slightly. “Amazing.”

“Can I help you,” Dick says in a rough voice. Clears his throat.

“I wanna buy you a drink,” Jason says.

“What,” Dick frowns a little.

“Bruce is still at work for another few hours, right,” he says.

“Probably,” Dick has no idea what time it is.

“I know he’s your buddy, but I wanna hang out with you too,” Jason grins at him.

“Why.”

“Why do I always need a reason to see you.”

“Cause you always have one,” Dick grins back at him.

“Come on,” Jason almost pouts. “I’m trying to be your friend. Looks like you can use one, if you know what I mean.”

“I guess,” Dick says faintly.

“Get classy. I found a neat place uptown.”

“I don’t…” ah, how to say this. “I don’t… wanna drink.”

“Why not,” Jason gets to the point.

“I don’t feel like it.”

“At all?”

“I dunno, do they serve anything else.”

“Umm,” Jason thinks out loud. Leans back and crosses his arms over his chest. “I know… of a coffee shop,” he attempts.

“Eugh,” Dick makes a face before he realizes what he just did.

“Not even coffee,” Jason seems incredulous. “Are you actually sick.”

“Turns my stomach lately,” Dick tells a small truth.

“Really,” Jason tilts his head. “That’s weird.”

Dick acknowledges that with silence.

“Let’s just do dinner, then.”

“Why,” Dick gives him another hesitant look.

Jason frowns. “Come on, let me be nice to you.” He glances around with some humor, “You’re not exactly busy right now.”

Dick smirks. “Sure, lemme just…” he idly scratches his head, runs a hand through his hair, “get cleaned up.”

“One rule,” Jason says, eyes following Dick as he stands up and walks by. “No suits.”

“Why,” Dick pauses in motion.

“Cause that’s all I’ve seen you in lately. It’s weird.”

 

Dick settled for dark jeans and a slightly classy shirt. It’s a bit chilly outside, anyway. Long sleeves, and a light coat. Still more dressed up than Jason’s blue jeans and logo shirt, but Jason let it slide.

They settled on a spacious bistro, tucked away on a quiet corner of the city that’s outside of Dick’s usual radius. It feels different than his usual haunts.

They’d initially chosen a table by the window, but Dick wasn’t at ease. Jason reasoned that it was because there were too many other people near them. So Jason requested they be relocated. Now they’re at a fairly isolated table at the back of the restaurant.

Dick’s not sure why Jason’s being so courteous, but he’s not gonna push his luck.

“How the hell have you been,” Jason starts.

“Fine,” Dick’s impulsive response, as he opens the menu.

“Awful, then.”

Dick almost laughs. “Yeah. Well,” he shrugs, “I’m doing okay.”

“So only slightly bad.”

Dick looks up at him, smirking.

“Gotta get more honest,” Jason says, tongue-in-cheek. “Let’s work on that.”

“I try,” Dick says faintly. “Ooh,” he pauses. “French toast sounds awesome right now.”

“So you stepped down, huh,” Jason says.

“Yeah,” intentionally not giving more information. “Do you know what you’re getting.”

“The sandwiches here are really good. They make ‘em in huge servings, like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Huh,” Dick says contemplatively.

“Exactly what kinda health crisis are you having,” Jason casually rolls it off his tongue.

“Personal,” Dick says quietly.

“That’s a long leave of absence, though.”

Dick shrugs.

“Indefinite usually means like… half a year or more, doesn’t it.”

“Can mean whatever you want it to,” Dick says cheekily. “Just means I haven’t decided yet.”

“But you had to step down immediately,” Jason says.

Dick acknowledges that with his silence.

“You don’t like talking about this.”

“No, I do not,” Dick grins faintly.

“Why.”

“People tend to get mad when I do,” Dick smiles with tight lips. Looks back down at his menu.

“So it _is_ really serious.”

Again, affirming silence.

“God, you’re just like Bruce now.”

“What,” Dick looks up.

“You know, you can’t get the truth out of him. You can argue, and you can bicker about it. But it’s never gonna come out unless he wants it to. He just sits and listens, and he gets _real_ quiet when you almost guess it.”

“I tell the truth a _bit_ more than he does,” with some humor, Dick returns to the menu.

“Little bit,” Jason says, turning the page of his. “Not as much as you used to.”

“Hm.”

“There ya go again,” Jason nods to himself.

“It’s a thoughtful silence,” Dick says.

“Uh huh.”

“I mean, I don’t know if you’re right or not. I’m just thinking.” Dick does a slow blink. “I mean, just because Bruce is quiet doesn’t mean he’s… dishonest.”

“Maybe to you he isn’t. Or maybe,” Jason turns the next page. “You’ve gotten so good at reading him, that you forget he’s lying to everyone else. He can lie to your face because he knows you’ll see through it, right? But when you do those bullshit press appearances with him, you _know_ he’s lying to everyone, don’t you?”

Dick exhales faintly.

Jason looks at him directly. “He can say what he wants, cause he knows you understand. Everyone else is just a gullible fool. But you’re so used to the lies that you barely hear them anymore.” He pauses. Smiles a bit wide, “Like this lie you keep telling, that you’re doing okay right now.”

“So that’s why I’m here,” Dick says.

“Ah,” Jason leans back a little. “You got me.”

“You can’t stand being out of the loop.”

“I don’t like being taken for an idiot,” Jason smirks.

Dick gives that a minute.

“You think you’ve got everyone fooled, but… you’re not even fooling Timmy anymore.”

“Has he said anything to you.”

“That he doesn’t trust you.”

Dick’s expression tenses.

A server arrives to take their order. Jason greets her warmly, as does Dick, once he realizes she’s there. They order with no dramatics, and hand her their menus. They act pleasant for those few extended seconds.

Tense seconds.

She leaves, and Jason jumps around a bit. “I like doing your route.”

Dick smirks faintly. “Good.”

“People have such a high opinion of you,” Jason says.

“I hope so.”

“Makes me long for a simpler time.”

Dick grins subtly, “So do I.”

“Bruce is doing right by you though, huh,” Jason muses.

Dick blinks at him. “What do you mean.”

“He’s helping you out. He’s fighting the vultures.”

“He’s being very considerate,” Dick says faintly.

“He always did favor you.”

Dick frowns.

“You think I don’t get it, cause you haven’t told me. But I do.” He lowers his voice, “I know what he is to you-”

“Shh,” Dick says, in a faint exhale.

Jason’s not offended. “Right. I know where we are. Point is I _know_ , you know.”

“Mm.”

“See, I’m learning to read your expressions.”

“Expressions,” Dick smirks.

“Yeah. Your face betrays you.” He clarifies, “When you talk about him.”

“Mm.”

“No matter what you’re even on about.”

“I don’t know if you should put so much faith in,” Dick almost smiles, “ _expressions_.”

“See that’s the thing,” Jason says. “You’re really deliberate with your face. You’re such a skilled liar that your whole face builds the illusion.”

Dick’s smile falls as subtly as it arrived.

“Except,” and Jason leans forward, eyes wide with an immediate delight, “When a truth escapes and catches you off-guard. Like this moment of honesty, or…” he almost whispers, “when someone talks about your man.”

“Hm.”

“Gotcha.”

But Dick shrugs. “It’s not too hard to figure out.”

“Sure. Not as impressive as your other secret.” Jason has difficulty stifling his smile, but he’s barely trying. “Timmy’s gonna freak.”

“What other-”

“Reason for your leave,” Jason says calmly. “I’m amazed. Bruce is even more protective than usual. He’s coddling you like you’re injured.”

Dick’s breath catches in his throat. But he stifles any further reaction when their server returns. She sets down two glasses, one for each of them. They thank her. It feels so normal. An unnerving, ordinary moment.

She leaves, and Dick’s chest begins to tighten. His eyes fall to his glass.

“See, I’ve got a theory about that.”

“Can we not...” Dick ventures.

“I know. We’re in public,” he gestures towards him, to calm down. “I won’t say anything they can print.”

Dick blinks slowly, but his body’s tense. Rigid.

“You should drink more,” Jason gestures to his glass. “Dehydration is serious business.”

Dick smirks at that, but he obliges.

“Anyway. So you’re taking it easy. Real easy.”

“Sure.”

“No work, no play, nothin’. For a long time, too. Suddenly, you’re at a breaking point with something that eclipses everything. Serious, but not dangerous. You’re going underground, but you don’t want to say goodbye. You’re just hiding. But you’re not talking. You don’t know how to say it. So I’ve got an idea,” and he reaches into his back pocket, sliding out his cell phone. Sets it on the table. “I want you to tell me if I’m right.” Turns on the screen.

“What are you-” but before he can finish the sentence, his phone buzzes in his pocket.

Jason waits. Stares at him calmly, as Dick pulls out his phone and looks at it.

Dick stares at the screen.

“Ah,” Jason leans forward, eagerly.

Dick is almost shaking. Sets his phone down. Swallows hard and looks at him.

“Ah? Do I win?”

Dick wants to say something, but his throat’s suddenly very tight.

“Whoa,” Jason sits back. Delight is written on his face, but he keeps his tone polite, and his words restrained. “Damn, I’m good.”

Dick speaks slowly. “Don’t tell anyone.”

“You think I would,” Jason asks incredulously. “Believe it or not, I didn’t come here to rub salt in your wounds.” Jason says, almost with fondness, “I do like you well enough.”

“What was the actual give-away,” Dick says quietly.

“Huh,” Jason says with some humor.

“How did you know,” Dick asks more bluntly.

Jason shrugs, but he’s playing it cool. “You know, you’re so composed all the time. It’s really amazing. Like you’d happily take all of your secrets to the grave, if you could.”

Dick feels a strange tension behind his eyes.

“But there’s no hiding this one, huh,” he vaguely gestures around. “While Bruce does everything in his power to shield you from the evils of the world.”

“You don’t know about Bruce-”

“Maybe I don’t,” Jason says curtly. Sharply. “Wouldn’t know. He doesn’t love me.”

“He does in his own way.”

“Sure,” Jason teases a little. “But not half as much as you.”

Dick shrugs, but it’s heavy and slow. That hurts in a way he can’t articulate.

“But I get it, you know,” Jason says. “It’s hard.”

“What is,” Dick grins, but his tone is hollow and empty.

“Being you.” He shakes his head, “I would lose my mind.”

Dick takes a sip of his glass, and the ice chimes.

Jason falls silent, but he resumes typing on his phone. Sends another message.

Dick looks down at his phone. He inhales sharply, but it’s more from surprise than anything else. He gives that a moment of thought. After a moment, he says, “Almost three.”

“Ah,” Jason nods. “Long time already.”

Dick nods. “Time’s going so fast,” but there’s humor at the end of it. Exhausted, but genuine humor.

“It’ll be here before you know it,” Jason says. Gives him a playful nudge on the arm.

 

Bruce works another late day, and when he does, Dick doesn’t see him before he goes on patrol. He underestimated how much time they spent together at work. Even in the fleeting moments over lunch break, the meetings, the small minutes here and there. So many minutes now lost in the long stretch of Dick’s lonely days spent around the Manor.

He really needs more hobbies, now. He was so absorbed in everything he’s been advised not to do: his work, his patrol, his intensive workouts. His doctor even cautioned him against what she called _unusual exercise_ , deeming his aerial arts both unnecessary and dangerous.

He doesn’t watch a lot of movies. He’s not too interested in generic television, and lately the children’s shows he’d been amusing himself with are more upsetting than relaxing. He hasn’t read a book in what feels like years, even if it’s probably only been months. He enjoys shopping, enjoys walking around town, enjoys dining at various restaurants but even when he left that bistro in the middle of a neighborhood he almost never visited, there was a photographer waiting to catch his photo before he climbed into his car.

It’s difficult to get a moment’s peace unless he stays here, but there’s so little for him to occupy himself with. He finds himself sleeping a lot more. Supposedly that’s healthier, but it doesn’t feel good right now.

He’s already in bed when Bruce ends his patrol. He stirs slightly when Bruce crawls into bed, and his greeting to his partner is a barely awake, “feels like it’s been days since I’ve seen you,” before he starts nodding off again.

Bruce doesn’t say a word. Puts his arms around him and presses a kiss to his neck.

But the feeling of those arms around him is one of the most reassuring things in the world. It makes him feel like the distance between them is a bit less. So Dick slides more into them, presses his body against Bruce’s and tries to forget how miserable the day was. How anxious he is, of the many hours ahead of him. The many days that feel endless.

Because these few hours with him, at least, are not empty.

 

“Wow,” Jason sits at the edge of the roof, eyes staring out over a city that’s glittering golden from the rising sun. “I’m impressed. We’re partying harder than Bruce.”

“Not by choice,” Tim groans, and sits down beside him. “This patrol is _ridiculous_.”

“Only the best for our birdie,” Jason says cheekily. Idly scratches at his face; the edges of this mask really do start digging in after a while.

“Speaking of that,” Tim leans back onto his arms, and some of the buckles on his uniform rattle as he shifts position.

“Yes,” Jason asks, but he knows what this is about.

“Any news?”

“What news,” Jason says smartly.

“Did he tell you anything, stupid.”

Jason smiles to himself. Nods, “mhm.”

Tim gives him a long look, as Jason continues to admire the view in silence. “Are you… gonna share any of it.”

“Nope.”

Tim’s eyebrows go up. “Seriously.”

“I’m gonna level with you,” Jason straightens his back, and turns to face him directly. “If I tell you… and trust me, I kinda want to…”

“Okay…”

“He might actually murder me.”

“What.”

“You think I’m being funny. I’m not. If I tell you, he might actually kill me.”

“Really,” Tim’s incredulousness shows in his voice.

“I took a guess at it,” Jason clarifies. “And he gave me a look like… if he could’ve legally buried me to keep the secret safe, he would. I’m sure he thought really hard about it.”

“Come on,” Tim whines at him.

“I’m not kidding.”

“Damn. That sounds serious.” He starts kicking his legs in the air in idle motion.

Jason nods. “Yep.”

Tim’s voice is increasingly quiet. “Why won’t he tell me?”

“Ask him.”

“How,” Tim almost rolls his eyes. “There’s no polite way to be like, _hey, I’m sick of being lied to, so spill the beans._ ”

“Yeah there is,” Jason gives him an intent look, “You say exactly that.”

Tim sighs. “He won’t take me seriously. He never does.”

“It’s not an insult,” Jason says off-handed.

“How else should I take it? He’s basically saying that I don’t deserve to know.”

“It’s not about being deserving. That’s the point. You’re _too_ deserving.”

“Huh,” Tim’s jaw goes slack.

“You’re important to him. He doesn’t want to disappoint you.”

“Why would I be disappointed,” Tim frowns.

“I dunno,” Jason says.

“Yes you do,” Tim growls.

“Yeah,” but he almost laughs to himself.

“Ugh.”

 

A small restaurant on the edge of downtown, and Cass is twirling a round of noodles around her chopsticks with her eyes fixated on the television. Buzzing away in the far corner of the room, a small screen shows Dick’s smiling face at a press conference from some days ago, now. The headline at the bottom, TRICKY DICK: HEALTH SCARE OR SAVING FACE?

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and makes a slight expression of displeasure. It’s been a long time since she’s seen him. Even longer since they really communicated with each other. But curiously, this feels familiar. She has a nagging itch as to what this is about.

Bruce. Lately, it’s always about Bruce.

Sounds of food being fried emanate from the kitchen, and a young couple takes their seats at a table near hers. They almost block her view of the television, although there’s really nothing of interest. It’s all speculation.

She’s been noticing how close he is to Bruce, for a while. But it’s not polite to say anything, so she didn’t. If he wants to tell her, he will. If he doesn’t, that’s his choice.

Bruce speaks differently to Dick, than to anyone else. His voice is more kind. His gestures are more considerate. His body language is almost at ease. She’s never seen Bruce touch anyone so often; so many times, with his arm around Dick’s shoulder, his hand on his arm, his fingers brushing against his back. It’s intimate, in a way. It’s affectionate. But she doesn’t say anything, because that would be rude.

Besides, it’s not her business.

Stirs the noodles in her bowl and continues to eat in silence as the couple next to her starts talking loudly, excitedly about arbitrary life news she tunes out.

 

It’s the end of another day, just like any other. Dick is starting to get used to the monotony. Still hasn’t found a hobby he really enjoys to fill the hours, but it was another day of fatigue so he spent half of it asleep anyway. Could be worse. Alfred loaned him a book to read, but it’s slow and difficult to wade through, so he put it down after about twenty pages. Might try again tomorrow.

He’s sitting near the windowsill, waiting for Bruce to come home. He’s not sure why. He never used to. He never used to count the hours, the way he sometimes does now. Always had somewhere to be, something more to do. Never seemed to find the time to sit and wait, even for someone he loves.

It’s odd.

But he sits, and enjoys the view. Onto the manor’s vast gardens, bathed in dramatic shadows from the moon above. He has the window cracked, to let some of the breeze in. The air is crisp and cool. It smells like Fall, the scent of leaves and a subtle hint of rain.

He closes his eyes, listening to the silence. Enjoying it for once. Sits back in his chair and lets himself relax.

Time starts passing without a set measurement. It drifts, it starts, it slows. He closes his eyes for what feels like a few minutes, but when he opens them, Bruce is standing above him.

“My love,” he says cheekily.

“Good morning,” and there’s almost some humor in it, but he’s not yet awake enough to tell.

Lazily stretches out and glances at the window again. The sky’s turning lighter. Many of the shadows are vanishing.

“Doctor’s appointment at 10,” he murmurs, almost in a drawl. Bruce is leaning down, pressing a kiss to the side of his face as Dick continues his words with some effort, making sure to get them right, despite the haze of tiredness. “Don’t forget.”

“I won’t,” Bruce says. He’s pressing a hand against Dick’s shoulder, familiar as always. Reassuring. “Let’s go to bed.”

“Mm,” Dick acknowledges that, but when Bruce leans in to help raise him up, his arm reaching around his back, Dick leans into his embrace. Almost slumps against him and Bruce makes a faint sound, almost in surprise. But he’s patient. He helps Dick to stand up, even as Dick yawns into his hands.

“You need to sleep earlier,” Bruce says.

“Hm,” Dick slowly walks towards the bed.

“Don’t wait for me. I’m home too late,” Bruce says.

“But then I won’t see you at all.”

 

Dick hasn’t stepped foot inside his gymnasium for days. That majestic room of wonders, of cables and bars and ropes and nets. The reason why he loved this house. The only room that Bruce let him design from nearly the ground up, because it was given as his own. He passes by the entryway often; past the small foyer that leads to it. Tries to pay it no consequence or attention, because if he thinks about it, his heart will start to feel low.

He’d been using it as a makeshift yoga studio, but the bars and the ropes swinging above did little except taunt him. He’d lean back, and look up; his eyes would trail up to the vast ceiling, and he’d get lost in the fond memory of what it feels like to be up there. Once he gets stuck up there, it’s so difficult to come down.

He’s taken, now, to using the living room. It’s eerily quiet, because no one uses it these days. The rambunctious kids all grew up, and the only thing Bruce ever really enjoyed about this room was the loveseat by the window. Not that it would matter. Bruce is never home during the day, anyway. Not anymore.

He’s doing cool-down stretches, with the television quietly on in the background; set to one of the few channels that doesn’t mention his name. He’d been using music for these routines, but television started proving more effective to clear his mind. Encourages him to let his thoughts wander less.

But after his doctor’s appointment earlier, it’s difficult for his mind to not wander a little bit. At least it’s buzzing with pleasant thoughts this time. Offers him some relief from the usual stress. The good news… it helps.

It’s always nice to see Bruce during the daylight hours. Today, especially, he was…

A cheerful voice is calling to her friend from the screen, and his leg is half-propped on the couch as he tilts sideways. Hears unfamiliar sounds from the hallway, but attributes it to Alfred rummaging around as usual and straightens himself back out.

Leans up and sees someone standing in the doorway.

He’s approached with an expression of bewilderment and hesitant curiosity. “So you’re taking time off,” with a glance at the tv, “to watch cartoons.”

“I _was_ doing yoga,” he says with some humor.

Tim does a slow blink, and almost frowns, “in shorts and a t-shirt.”

“What else would I wear. I’m not a professional,” but his joke falls flat and he’s a little disappointed at the lack of reaction.

“So you _are_ here,” Tim says. “Kinda took an educated guess.”

Oh. “Yeah. Drink, or anything?”

“I’m fine,” Tim says.

“At least have a seat,” Dick quips. “You’re making me nervous.”

Tim makes a faint sound, but he does find his way to the couch. Sits near the edge hesitantly, in silence as Dick takes a seat near him. “What are you watching,” Tim tilts his head.

“Professor Floof,” Dick says.

“Okay,” Tim doesn’t know what that is.

Dick chuckles at something on the screen.

“So you took an indefinite leave to watch cartoons and do yoga,” Tim attempts again.

“Good for mental health,” Dick offers.

“Is it.”

“ _Aw_ ,” Dick softens his voice, “Look how cute she is. She’s so sweet.”

“Dick.”

“Tim,” Dick asks in a playful tone.

“What are you actually doing here.”

“What are _you_ doing here,” Dick returns the serve.

“Taking a long lunch break,” Tim says faintly.

“Don’t you work downtown.”

“I’m in no hurry or anything,” Tim says.

Dick sends him a sideways look, but he’s not gonna push it. Tim’s always been a bad liar, anyway.

“I just,” Tim leans forward, hands clasped together over his knees. When he speaks it’s quiet and almost a whisper. “Are you okay?”

“Aw,” Dick pouts at him, “You’re worried about me. Too cute, Timmy. You could’ve called, you know.”

“Dick,” Tim nearly rolls his eyes, “Can you be serious for five minutes.”

“Sure,” Dick shrugs. Eyes lingering on the screen, because that makes it easier. “I’m okay.”

“Great. So you’re most likely dying.”

Dick suppresses a small laugh. “I have gotta find a new line.”

“Why are you back at the manor.”

“So I can watch tv and do yoga,” tongue in cheek.

“You’re living here, right.”

“That’s a reasonable conclusion to make.”

“Why.”

“Did you eat lunch already?”

But Tim’s not gonna bite. “Why come back. You were out for a long time.” He shakes his head, “That was a really nice set-up. You owned two floors, downtown, close to everything.” His eyes widen slightly, “Two entire floors. Nothing here is as nice as that was.”

“Not about how nice it is,” Dick says faintly. “Maybe I was lonely.”

Tim frowns, and takes a sweeping look around. “You seem pretty alone right now.”

“I have Alfred,” Dick smirks. “Bruce always comes home eventually. Until then I have Alfred,” he gestures to the television, “and quality entertainment.”

“Bruce,” Tim says quietly. But his next thought gives him more encouragement. “Alfred. You’re here because of Alfred.”

“What,” Dick laughs.

“You wanted someone to take care of you.”

“Hm.”

“Someone to cook for you, someone to keep the place clean, no responsibilities, mindless,” he points at the screen, “distractions, at a place that’s far away, where no one will find you. The press is looking for you, you know,” he turns to face him directly, “they’re looking high and low to find you, but they can’t. Because you’re avoiding them, aren’t you?” He shakes his head, “Yoga. Why the hell would you do yoga?”

Dick says flatly, “It’s relaxing-”

“You work out. You actually work out. Remember that? High intensity workouts? Training? Being active? Being out in society? Doing your own goddamn route.”

Dick does a slow blink at him.

Tim exhales a heavy sigh. He runs a hand over his face, “You’re _really_ sick, aren’t you.”

“Not exactly,” Dick says with some humor.

“Well, something knocked you on your ass.” He speaks sharply; bitter. “Before you drop dead, can you at least tell me what it is.”

Dick chews on his lip, eyes fixated on the screen.

“Unbelievable,” Tim says under his breath.

Dick’s eyes fall to the floor, but his expression remains neutral. Uncomfortably still. “Well, I’m not dying.”

“Sure,” Tim drawls with sarcasm.

Dick pauses in thought, and reaches for the remote. Changes the channel.

“Un- _believ-_ able,” Tim gives him an intent stare.

Dick lets the channel linger on a music network. Finds that more calming. Hears a familiar tune and starts nodding to the beat.

“Are you really gonna pull this,” Tim stares him down.

Dick doesn’t respond. Closes his eyes and starts dancing in his seat, shoulders moving to the melody, hands slowly gesturing to the high notes.

“You’re shutting me out,” Tim shakes his head. Nearly growls, “Ridiculous.”

He stands up, but Dick gives no indication of noticing. Until Tim takes a few steps away. “Wait,” Dick says. Holds up one hand.

“What,” Tim nearly barks at him.

“It’s a good tune. Enjoy it for a second.”

“Are you kidding me.”

“Not shutting you out,” Dick says quietly, even as he nods along to the music. “Just sit down and give me a minute.”

“I gotta get back to work,” Tim grumbles. But after a slow eye roll, he takes those steps back and slumps down onto the couch.

Song ends. Commercial starts. Dick leans forward and turns the volume down.

Tim swallows the bitter remark he wants to say, eyes in a slow blink as the edge of his mouth stays twisted.

“I got a bit knocked up, actually.”

When Tim rolls his eyes, Dick gives him a blank stare. The sting of a missed joke.

Tries again. “I’m expecting.”

“Expecting what,” but as soon as he finishes the words, his expression falls.

“You’re right, by the way,” Dick says. “I’m a terrible adult.” He shrugs, “I eat poorly, I sleep badly, I let my place get messy, I don’t keep up on my laundry. All sorts of things. But this place,” he looks around for emphasis, “this place is _luxurious_. I don’t have anything to worry about here. I have never slept better.”

“Expecting,” Tim repeats, for emphasis.

“And maybe I am hiding from people, but what am I supposed to do. You think I like sitting here doing nothing. God, I’m _so_ bored,” he whines. “But it’s better than… having those pests follow me everywhere. I don’t want them in my business. I’m _sick_ of having them in my business. I’m allowed to sit and do yoga and watch cartoons and focus on myself without having someone in my face all the time.”

“ _Expecting._ ”

“Yeah,” Dick throws his hands up, “I’m having a baby, what do you want me to say?”

“Physically. From your own body.”

“Yeah. Remember, cause I’m-”

“I know, but,” Tim’s expression is recovering. He almost whispers it. “How long has this been a thing.”

Dick shrugs. “A couple months. Few months.”

“With who.”

Dick makes a faint sound, from the back of his throat, “Mm.”

“Dick,” Tim scolds him.

“Can I tell you later.”

“Seriously.”

“Timmy,” Dick finally lets some of his weariness slip through, his voice getting lower, “I love you, but you kinda dropped in on me here. I’m not prepared for all this today.”

“Seriously.”

“Relax,” Dick blinks slowly.

“Is it someone I know.”

“Might be,” he says swiftly.

“Is it someone you’re actually dating right now.”

Dick tilts his head, and looks at him with some skepticism. A suppressed laugh shakes his chest. “What do you take me for.”

“I mean, that’s not why you’re here, is it. He’s not… _not_ letting you stay with him, right.”

Dick scoffs, but a genuine smirk escapes. “No, he’s fine. We… both think, this is the right place for me to be.”

“You’re sure. You’re not bullshitting me.”

“When do I ever,” but his mouth extends into a wide smile.

“I know you can handle it on your own, but you shouldn’t, you know.”

“ _Tim_ ,” Dick almost whines. Leans his head back into the couch, eyes unfocused and tired. “You can worry a little less.”

“Yeah, but if he’s not-”

“He’s around,” in a low murmur. “I promise. I may act like a recluse, but I see him all the time.”

“Okay,” Tim settles down; slightly. “If you insist.”

Dick sends him a small smile.

“So it’s someone I know. That you see often.”

“Mm,” Dick closes his eyes.

“Is it someone I know well?”

“Tim,” Dick almost hisses, but it’s playful and low. “Can we not play the guessing game.”

“I’m just trying to figure it out-”

“This is really bad for my stress.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“So you’re really doing the mom thing,” Tim is still frowning about it.

“Dad thing,” Dick corrects. “Don’t get it confused.”

“Sorry. And you can’t tell me who it is.”

“Eventually,” Dick says.

“Fine,” Tim grumbles.

“I love you,” Dick says faintly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tim nudges him in the arm. And stiffens up, when he gets tugged forward.

Assertively tugged forward.

“Why is this happening,” Tim inquires, as a strong arm winds across his back. “Why are we embracing.”

“Hormones,” Dick says, his chin pressed against his shoulder.

“Okay,” Tim returns the gesture, a hesitant arm patting Dick on the back.

Dick squeezes him.

“Why are you like this.”

 

“I can’t believe he was right,” Tim’s sitting at his dining room table, face propped up in his hand as he stares forward.

“Hmm,” Steph is raising an eyebrow, as she glances over her shoulder to look at him from across the room. Hands washing a pan in the sink, scrubbing soap bubbles absent-mindedly.

“ _Just ask him_ , he said. How dare he.”

“Dickie actually talked to you,” she grins slightly.

“Yeah,” Tim says. His eyes gloss over in distant thought. Lets those thoughts settle as Steph runs the faucet.

“So what’d you find out,” she projects her voice over the running water.

“He’s not dying,” Tim says.

“That’s good,” she almost giggles. “Still something serious, though?” Shuts the faucet off and shakes water off the pan.

“He’s expecting.”

“Huh?”

Tim has difficulty saying it again. He sits back in his chair, as if overwhelmed. “You know he’s trans, right.”

“Yeah,” she calls back. Sets the pan down on the counter and dries her hands on a nearby towel. “Is that relevant.” When he doesn’t immediately respond, she turns her body towards him. Steps through the grand archway joining the dining room with the kitchen. Stands at the doorway, and tilts her head. “What,” she says pointedly.

“He’s expecting,” he says a second time.

She understands, this time. Her jaw seems to drop in slow motion.

He almost shrugs, but his expression remains tense. “That’s why he’s… laying low.”

She almost shivers with a sudden outburst of energy. She rattles, from her feet to her shoulders. Her question an anxious exclamation, “He’s preggers!”

Tim nods, almost wearily.

Steph puts a hand over her mouth. From behind it, “oh my god.”

“Yeah.”

When she removes her hand, Tim frowns at her expression. A smile. A wide one. “That’s _awesome_.”

“It is?”

She almost stammers, “Why wouldn’t it be?” Hands clenched into fists, with too much energy to contain. “He’d be such a _great_ dad.”

“Yeah.”

But she’s sensing Tim’s anxiety. Exhales slowly and lowers her voice to a more calm murmur. “Is he happy about it.”

“He’s doing okay,” Tim says.

“But he’s not thrilled,” she almost grimaces.

“No, I don’t know,” Tim shrugs. “I’m sure he’s fine.” He nods, more to himself than her. “He’s pretty stressed.”

“Yeah, I can imagine,” she says faintly. “That’s gotta be hard. I mean he’s had to step down from his job, his patrol and everything… for such a long time,” she frowns. “He’s a really busy guy. It’s hard to get away from all that.”

“Yeah,” Tim almost laughs. “Tell me about it. His route is insane. I don’t know how he was doing that _and_ Wayne Corp.”

“Same as how Bruce does,” she shrugs. “They’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly.

“But aww,” with a wide smile that still lingers. “That’s so neat.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

She pouts at him, “Why are you bothered.”

“I’m not bothered,” but he almost sighs. “I’m…”

“Concerned,” she says.

“Yeah.” But his expression is starting to soften a bit. “He won’t say who the father is.” He shrugs, almost dramatically. “That’s a red flag.”

“Do we know him,” she asks.

“Apparently.”

“Ooh,” she almost whistles.

“What,” he laughs uncomfortably.

She almost swoons, “so dramatic.” But she keeps it a little serious. “Is he in the picture.”

“Like, is he involved,” Tim asks.

“Yeah,” she nods.

“He said he was.”

“Oh my,” she grins, eyes showing a spark of delight.

“I wish I found this as amusing as you do.”

“It’s so _juicy_ ,” she almost does a twirl. But she almost winces, “he wouldn’t tell you at all?”

“Said he’d tell me later,” he clarifies. Throws up a hand in frustration, “which could mean, like, months or something. I don’t know.”

“Maybe if you ask nicely enough.”

“I tried. He respectfully told me not to.”

“Wow.” Says in a low voice, “Scandalous.”

He clarifies, “I didn’t even know he dated guys anymore. But he says they’re in a relationship,” his eyes show his confusion. “How is he dating someone without us knowing about it.”

She shrugs, “Maybe he’s hiding a good guy from us.”

“Why, though.”

She chuckles, “We’re kind of a weird family. I wouldn’t bring anybody normal around daddy Bruce.”

“Nothing wrong with Bruce-”

“He’s scary,” she says with some humor. “He is an intimidating man. Especially knowing someone did this? To his precious son,” she teases. “ _Oh_ , that man is dead.”

Tim shrugs, “I don’t know. It’s someone we know, though. So Bruce already knows him. Probably.”

“But if he doesn’t know about it, and then Dick says who it is?” her eyes grow wide, but her lips betray her ongoing enthusiasm. “Oh, man. I wanna be a fly on that wall.”

Tim exhales slowly, with obvious frustration.

She almost whispers, “Hey. You said Jason knew about this, right.”

“He figured it out,” Tim says dryly. “Meaning he dug it up somewhere. I’m sure.”

“You think he knows who it is.”

“Probably,” he crosses his arms. “Wouldn’t tell me, though.”

“He likes giving you a hard time,” she almost laughs.

“One of his favorite hobbies.”

“Aw, sweetie. It means he likes you.”

“Can he like me a little less.”

 

_Going, Going, Gone? Dick Grayson’s disappearance could spell trouble for Wayne Corp._

It’s the first time he’s really looked at his face in a while.

The television’s on, but he’s been staring into the mirror for a good ten minutes now. They like to keep playing the same footage. The night he left the Wayne Charity ball with Bruce. Before the tidal wave hit.

His face had already been changing, even then. But he felt fortunate, at the time. Fortunate to have noticed the changes were subtle and gradual. Fortunate to still maintain his powerhouse body frame, all tight form and muscle. Fortunate to keep his voice well trained, because at least if he sounded the same, maybe no one would notice that he looked different.

One of the networks showed an appearance from early last year. Long before he went off hormones this time around. He looked older than he does now; features more defined, more structured. His jaw was more pronounced. His eyes were more striking. He was less… smooth. He’s been losing body mass since then, but he kept that change near transparent by changing his fitness routine. He had to work harder to keep from losing what he’d built. He had to tackle unexpected challenges. He started losing shape to his arms, despite his best efforts. He started gaining weight on his hips that he hadn’t seen in years.

All of that was manageable, feasible, tolerable because he was still able to work hard, to train, to keep up his image, to smile and move his way through it. On a good day, he’s accepted this as a normal sacrifice. He’s accepted that he’ll be uncomfortable in his own skin. For a little while.

But he’s staring in the mirror and he’s seeing the television screen reflect his face as it was then. Between the screen and his reflection, eyes shifting with trepidation. There’s no subtle, graceful transition anymore. The changes are significant now.

This awareness kicked in this morning, when he was startled at how _soft_ his face looked. He covered half his face with his hand and realized he was starting to look familiar. Familiar to an old self he once knew.

He can’t lose what he’s gained. It’s terrifying.

His counselor has assured him that it won’t happen. “Some physical change is inevitable,” he said. “But you’ve come too far, to easily get back to where you were. A year or two off hormones won’t undo all of your hard work.”

Sure. But it’s undone a decent amount of it.

He sighs. Runs a hand over his face and starts trying to think about something else.

The television screen goes black.

Hears the man’s footsteps before he sees him. Hears the familiar rhythm of his breathing, the shuffling of his jacket as he takes it off.

So rare that he’s home during the daylight.

“Finish work early,” he asks.

An initial pause, but that’s to be expected. Stoic and silent, breathing slow and walking up behind him. Dick’s eyes linger on Bruce’s expression in the mirror, trying to read what he’s thinking as the man’s large and rough hands smooth their way around his waist, resting on his swollen stomach. “Yes.”

“Slow day, huh,” Dick smiles faintly. Subtle enough to not concern him.

“Are you alright,” but he saw through it. He always does.

“I remember when you weren’t able to say those words,” Dick says quietly. Bows his head because the reflection is getting to be a bit too much. “You’ve gotten so much better at it.”

“Do you need to talk.”

“Wow,” Dick almost laughs. “Look’it you.”

Bruce is not amused.

Dick leans back against him, the back of his head resting against Bruce’s shoulder. Closes his eyes because that makes everything easier. “Hey,” he says.

Bruce waits.

He places his hands over Bruce’s. “Can we fuck.”

 

Legs hooked over Bruce’s shoulders, the man’s face buried deep between them. Fingernails trailing sharp lines up, and then down Bruce’s back as Dick is making incoherent noises, sounds like gasps he swallows before they can escape. He’s trained himself to keep quiet, but it’s a struggle. Right now, it’s-

Tenses and rolls his hips, slowly writhing from his legs to his restless hands. Eyes unfocused and almost desperate, breathing shallow and fast and it’s an erotic rhythm Bruce hasn’t heard in such a long time. Bruce knows he’s doing something right; fingertips digging deep into his skin, pleasant sparks of pain on his shoulder blades when he brings him closer.

He tastes different. Stronger, and it’s taking all of Bruce’s composure to soldier on dutifully; to lick and kiss him obediently as his insides start to ignite in a slow burn.

A small whine escapes and Dick is almost shaking when Bruce moves in deeper. He attempts words and they aren’t complete. His cunt is so warm, so hot against Bruce’s tongue. He’s so wet and fragrant; it makes him hunger for more.

Bruce pauses.

A low humming noise, from somewhere across the room. Almost a… buzz.

“Do you need to answer that,” Dick asks quietly.

Bruce gives him a look, as if to read his expression. Idly presses his fingers against Dick’s cunt, lightly massaging his sensitive skin as he thinks it over. Dick almost cringes at the teasing.

The humming continues.

Bruce gives that a moment of thought; leans back down and submerges his tongue inside him.

 

The screen illuminates. 3 MISSED CALLS. 7 UNREAD MESSAGES.

His body is pressed so close against Dick’s that he can see nothing else. Dick’s kissing him, straddling his lap as they exchange saliva and unsteady, gasping breaths.

He doesn’t remember it feeling this hot inside him; it’s been too many days.

Dick inhales deep and exhales slowly, a low moan against his lips and Bruce almost flinches at how much he aches. He’s easing away the discomfort with slow, deep fucking but it’s a tease that holds him in suspense. Dick insisted on working him slowly; Bruce gave him that choice in full confidence, but he hurts and he craves and Dick’s skin is so warm to the touch.

Bruce groans, despite himself as Dick lowers his body down again, that achingly slow rub of his dripping wet cunt enveloping his cock. Bruce eases some of his hunger by tasting more of Dick’s skin, teeth and tongue tracing the contour of his jaw until he reaches his lips again. Unbearably soft against his own; he caves to his instinct, biting on his bottom lip for a lingering moment before allowing Dick to evolve it into a mutual kiss.

Dick rocks himself slowly, and he’s sliding up again and Bruce doesn’t know how much longer he can handle this. He doesn’t want to come first, but he’s nearing the edge. The cool air as Dick pulls himself up just a bit more, that cruel tease of air and the curious sensation of drying cum on his skin before Dick slides back down.

A curious expression is emerging on Dick’s face; somewhere behind his eyes, a glint of something mischievous. He breaks the kiss gently, playfully with a parting lick across Bruce’s lips and says into his ear, “I forget how much you like me.”

Bruce’s eyes widen slightly, and that thought almost seizes him before Dick starts to roll his hips a bit more, massaging his cock with his body.

He can’t let that linger. Those words- “I _love_ you.”

“Shh,” Dick almost purrs, but the kiss he presses beneath his eyes is playful and light. “I know.” He almost laughs, “That’s not what I meant.”

But Bruce still wonders.

Dick drapes his arms around Bruce’s shoulders and they embrace each other, Bruce holding him close as he tries something a little different. Starts to rock him slowly, buckling his hips just enough to keep a consistent rhythm against his cunt. Dick makes an incomprehensible sound, somewhere between a whine and gasp of surprise and he buries his face against Bruce’s neck, hands pressing against Bruce’s back so tightly.

That aching tension is still there, but the pleasure is starting to catch up, now. Bruce continues to rock him, the slow and steady fuck Dick asked him for. Their needs don’t completely match, but no compromise between them is ever unsatisfying. To hold him so close like this; once he’s inside him, he never wants to leave.

The scent of Dick’s body is starting to reach him. The scent of his cum is stronger than it’s ever been; it makes the sheets smell like sex. The bed, the room. He doesn’t know how he’s going to be able to sleep tonight without wanting to fuck him again, and again.

He normally has to struggle with the thought of wanting to fuck him—so badly—but he’s usually sufficiently tired enough to ignore the thought. But this smell sparks a deep desire within him, something primal.

He’s realizing that Dick’s stronger scent is because he’s pregnant, and that realization makes him moan out loud. He feels Dick laugh faintly against his shoulder.

Dear God.

He ups the pace slightly; starts to arch himself a little more aggressively, but instead of asking him to slow down, Dick sighs with enthusiasm. Light and exhilarated, a half-whispered, “yes,” as Bruce takes more control and starts pounding his hungry cunt more properly.

Dick leans back slightly. Keeps his arms around Bruce’s body but he’s leaning back, a distance enough to rattle and bounce on top of him. He’s nearing the edge of his own pleasure; his eyes stare into Bruce’s. His face is flushed and his lips are swollen and parted in a consistent stream of heavy, short breaths and moans. When he moans he almost whines, and Bruce keeps his eyes on him; eyes on him and hands firm against his waist, steadying his body as much as he can.

“Lay all the way down,” Dick says.

“What,” Bruce barely voices it.

“Lay back,” Dick says, with a touch of seriousness. But he adds with more softness, “Please.”

Bruce nods. Slowly leans back against the bed, steady and slowly as Dick gives him a lingering look, to make sure he’s alright. “Sorry,” Dick almost teases, “Got a little uncomfortable,” and Bruce can’t imagine why, but he’s not the one that’s pregnant so he doesn’t question it.

That thought again.

Hands positioned on either side of Bruce’s body, Dick starts to move. Rocks himself on top of Bruce, a more rapid version of what he was doing before. Sliding up—teasingly far, so far that Bruce almost worries he’ll slide out of him—and then back down in a sudden, almost abrasive move that makes both of them shudder. He repeats the same motion again. And again. It feels like Bruce is re-entering him with every thrust.

Bruce is in so much pain that he starts to moan, the pleasure biting at the edges of his brain and his body tensing in a familiar way. He’s going to come soon; he’s going to come _hard_.

He reaches up, hands resting on Dick’s waist as Dick continues to pump his cock. Bruce gives up on trying to meet and keep his gaze; Dick’s eyes are closing as his sighs gets deeper. He starts to whimper and Bruce can feel his body tensing. His cunt still lets him in, but the tightness makes it more erotic.

Dick is getting close. His lips part and his jaw doesn’t close for several seconds. He starts to shiver with his sighs and his moan is so breathless it’s almost incomprehensible as a sound at all.

Dick slides up again, and this time he lets Bruce slide out—just barely, just enough—and lets his cunt press against the head of Bruce’s cock in a slow, agonizing massage, a slow roll that makes Bruce nearly cringe. Dick’s breathing is shallow, slowing for just a moment as he lets the head press against him in a slow, steady nudge against his clit and then a gradual slide back towards his cunt. Slides back down and sits on Bruce with his full weight, taking the full length as far deep inside as it’ll go.

From the moment his thighs rest flat against Bruce’s legs, Dick starts to tremble and Bruce knows what’s about to happen, so he encourages it. A slow roll of his hips and it’s so damn pleasurable for both of them that Bruce doesn’t realize he’s coming until he lets the wave roll through him, from his tensing legs to his tight chest to his tense hands and his clenched jaw.

Pleasure softens the pain as he empties more cum inside his lover than he has in a long while.

When Bruce’s eyes focus, and he looks up at Dick, his lover is almost squirming slowly, an expression of exhausted joy slowly overtaking his features. A slow, subtle smile and heavy eyes, and he almost sighs with relief as he looks down at Bruce and shares mutual eye contact with him for a moment.

“Are you alright,” Bruce asks, more out of reflex than concern.

Dick smile gets a bit wider, and he wordlessly grabs hold of Bruce’s nearest hand. Repositions it to his stomach, and presses his palm flat against his skin.

Bruce stares at him, silent as he lets his fingers caress it.

Dick almost laughs to himself. “That was so much,” he teases. But a deliberate choice of words betrays his seriousness. “I don’t even wanna move.”

“You like it,” Bruce remembers.

“Best feeling,” he almost whispers. Bites his lip before letting it go. “There’s so much of you inside me.”

That almost makes Bruce hard again. If he had any energy left-

Dick bows his head, almost out of embarrassment. Gives a cheeky grin, “I thought of the baby and I…” but he trails off.

Bruce gives him a curious look, in case he’ll notice it.

He does. Chuckles quietly, shoulders shaking. “I don’t know if it should be,” a more genuine smile returning to his face, “but it’s such a turn on.”

Bruce allows a slight grin to escape. A subtle curve of his lips because he doesn’t want Dick to feel judged; needs him to know this is okay. This has always been acceptable.

That he finds this just as conflicting and exciting as he does.

Dick finally climbs off him, sliding Bruce’s cock out slowly. But Dick settles back on his lap, as if he’s unsure of what to do. He’s content, but his expression isn’t entirely at ease.

Bruce relocates one of his hands; turns it palm facing up and reaches between Dick’s legs, fingertips teasing against his wet, swollen cunt and almost immediately, Dick’s breathing slows. Steadies a bit more as Bruce starts to massage him, fingers caressing the folds and almost lovingly teasing his entrance as Dick starts to vocalize his exhalations, pleasured sighs.

Rocks himself slowly on Bruce’s hand, lets his fingers massage him as Bruce slides one of them inside. His entrance is hot and coated with cum. Bruce is massaging it around, rubs inside in small circles that make Dick moan suddenly, as if startled.

“You always come more than once,” Bruce says quietly.

Dick almost laughs, but he settles and gets comfortable as he lets Bruce continue his work.

 

Dick stirs awake, to the low rumble of Bruce’s voice. But as he stretches his arms out and opens his eyes, Bruce isn’t next to him anymore.

Bruce is sitting at the edge of the bed, back to him as Dick attempts to focus a hazy mind on his words. Phone pressed to the side of his face, and if Bruce heard him move, he gives no indication. He carries on with his conversation.

“Is it an emergency.”

Dick frowns to himself. Immediately knows it’s about Wayne Corp, but he’s at a loss for what could’ve happened.

“Five missed calls,” Bruce is emphasizing. “Seven messages,” and there’s almost a threat in his voice. “Is the building on fire.”

Dick almost wants to laugh, but this seems serious.

“I was somehow ambiguous, so let me make this clear,” Bruce pauses, as if interrupted. Carries on with more of a rush, “So we are completely clear, this is unacceptable.”

Bruce is giving a frustrated sigh from the back of his throat, and Dick studies his back, the way the muscles crossing his shoulders are tensing.

“I don’t care what happened.”

He’s so tense.

“Do I sound concerned,” his idle hand is scratching his leg, but it’s from stress. “I’m only concerned that you’ve granted yourselves the right to intrude into my personal time.”

Dick can’t help but to yawn. He notices Bruce’s posture change slightly; a slight tilt of his head in acknowledgement. But he keeps his eyes focused ahead, still refusing to look back at him.

“If there is a fire, put it out. You are authorized to do everything that you need.” He almost visibly seethes. “Here’s a statement,” and he almost growls. “Handle it.”

Dick is stretching his arms a bit more, wondering how long this will continue.

“The next time you call me during my personal time, make sure it’s an emergency.” A tense lapse of silence. “Am I clear.” And a single nod, “Good. See you tomorrow.”

He hangs up, and gives a slow exhale. Dick is staring up at him with heavy, but awake enough eyes as some of the tension in Bruce’s back is finally dissolving. “You can go back to work if you need to,” Dick says quietly.

Bruce’s response is swift. “No.”

Dick tries again, “I mean, it’s not like we’re busy with anything…”

“No,” and he turns toward him, even as his eyes linger downwards. Down to the bed, to the sheets and Dick’s restless hand as his fingers dig into them.

“I don’t want to keep you away from anything important.”

“I said no.”

Bruce freezes, the minute those words leave. Closes his eyes for a moment, as Dick seems a bit caught by the abrasiveness of his voice.

“I apologize,” and Bruce is softening around the edges. “My tone…”

“Is it important,” Dick asks faintly. Because it takes more than that to intimidate him.

“Not important enough.”

Dick makes a thoughtful sound, but decides not to push it. But something’s dawning on him. Something kind of interesting. “Are you,” he ventures, almost delicately, “taking time off for me?”

Bruce sends him a look, but he doesn’t say anything right away. Lets that question settle into a contemplative silence.

“You don’t have to.”

Bruce’s voice is almost vulnerable, slowing down. “There are things more important than my work. I won’t lose sight of them.”

Dick stares at him.

Bruce stares back, almost perplexed at his silence.

Dick’s voice is faint, “You’ve changed so much.”

Bruce frowns, a clear question furrowing his brow.

“I don’t know if you see it,” Dick says. “But you’ve worked so hard for me.”

Bruce continues to stare at him, but his expression turns more gentle; more kind. He exhales slow and shallow, and moves closer to him. Returns to his side of the bed, crawling back into the sheets without another word.

They both get a bit more comfortable. Dick is starting to slip back into that fuzzy, tired state of being as he presses his face against his pillow, gazing up at Bruce as he shifts position and lays on his back beside him.

Dick reaches a hand out, and presses it flat against Bruce’s chest. Smooths a comforting circle, a light massage of his fingers. In a small voice, “Thank you.”

Bruce sends him another lingering look. Wordlessly leans over and kisses him on the forehead. Slides further beneath the sheets and gets more comfortable, fluffing his pillow as Dick laughs faintly at his fidgeting.

 

It’s a Saturday, but Bruce is at work for an early meeting. An exception because of the recent events within the company, he said. He didn’t elaborate; Dick didn’t ask. His vacation away from Wayne Corp is as much psychological as physical, after all.

Bruce did tell him to get out a bit, before he left. See his friends. Spend more time with them, instead of hanging around doing so little. Dick made a face at that, but it’s a fair concern.

So he’s reclining on Donna’s couch, sinking into a pile of pillows. Feet propped up on the edge of her coffee table and she’s pressing him for information he doesn’t know.

“So you’ve _never_ been to El Mariachi,” she’s narrowing her eyes at him.

He glances over at her, and almost smirks. “Do I look like I get out much.”

“You used to,” she teases. Reaches out and pokes him in the leg. “Borracha?”

He pauses. Almost frowns.

“Not a fan,” she suggests.

“Cheap drinks,” he says. “Good happy hour, though.”

“Hm,” she almost pouts. “I really want _good_ drinks though.”

“Have you asked Babs.”

“There’s a name I haven’t heard in a while,” she almost laughs. Stretches out her back and her hair tumbles over her shoulder.

“Yeah,” Dick acknowledges. “Haven’t seen her for a minute.”

“Have you been in touch with Kory.”

Dick doesn’t respond.

Donna leans forward. Brows heavy, eyes direct. “Really?”

“Been a while,” he almost speaks under his breath.

“Why.”

“I don’t know.”

Donna pouts at him. “I miss her. She’s fun.”

“She’s pretty great,” Dick says. “I just got busy and… I don’t really see anybody these days.”

Donna doesn’t say anything, but she scoots a bit closer. Legs crossed on the floor, she leans against Dick’s legs dramatically, almost like a cat. Stares up at him with long lashes and a slow blink.

“What,” he chuckles faintly.

“Are you really gonna do this.”

“Do what.”

She sighs slowly, but keeps her lips sealed. Another heavy blink.

“What.”

“You’re such a shut in,” she hits his leg.

“Ow-”

“You’re not a hermit. Actually you’re a _really bad_ hermit. You like people,” she stresses.

“Well, yeah-”

“You can’t do it this way,” her hands dig into his leg and he almost grimaces from the sudden pressure. “You can’t just hide from everybody.”

“What else am I supposed to do.”

She almost snaps at him. “Tell them.”

He attempts to sink further into the pillows.

“Do this for me,” she whines. Eyes wide and shiny, expression insistent with a sharp tongue. “I don’t know what you’re so afraid of.”

“I wouldn’t say that-”

“You’re hiding from them like you’re _scared_. The guy I know, my best friend? He doesn’t _get_ scared.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” he grumbles.

“Really? It’s _Kory_. Babs, Cass, Roy, Linda-”

“Pretty sure Wally told Linda.” He skips over the Roy mention.

“Maybe,” she shrugs and doesn’t miss a beat, “Just call any one of them and tell them. For your own sake.” She bats her eyelashes again, almost playfully. “Do you need me to call them.”

“No,” but he almost laughs.

“I will call Babs right now-”

“No, no-”

“I seriously will. Give me her number.”

“No,” and he presses his hands over his face dramatically.

“What do you think they’re gonna do,” she sweeps hair out of her eyes. “Be a little mad about it? Get annoyed? Confused maybe?”

“All of the above,” voice muffled from behind his hands.

“So,” and her jaw almost goes slack. Picks it back up, and she speaks more faintly. Delicately. “You’re at the end of your first trimester, right.”

That catches him off-guard.

“You’ve gotta let this go. This stress is really bad for you.” She leans against him again, hands on his leg and her chin resting on them. “Don’t you wanna enjoy any of this, at least a little? Wouldn’t it feel better to just have it out there.”

Silence.

“I just want you to be happy,” she says quietly. “And you’re never gonna _be_ there without getting this out of the way.”

He removes his hands from his face. Looks down at her with some sense of affirmation. “You’re right.”

Donna tilts his her head, and almost smirks at him. “I’m always right.” She drums her hands against his leg. “Who are we gonna call first.”

“I’d love to tell everyone,” he says.

“Whoa,” her eyes go wide.

“But to be honest,” and he stifles a yawn behind his hand. “I don’t know how.”

“All at once? Gather them in a room and go for it.”

“Huh,” but he gives it a brief moment of thought. “Terrifying.”

Donna looks up at him, with kind eyes and a hesitant smile. “Just _please_ think about.”

“Mm,” but he doesn’t sound entirely optimistic.

“I promise you. It’s gonna be fine.”

 

The shower water is almost too hot. But it’s a pleasant burn. It’s reassuring in a way he doesn’t understand, but he’s going to indulge himself because life doesn’t have a lot of these small joys lately. Just a lot of stress.

Stress, and stress-

He runs his hands over his face, sweeping his hair back from his eyes. Blinks a few times and tries to snap his mind away from retreating to a dark place.

They were waiting for him when he left Donna’s. They always are. Sharks.

He used to be able to take it. He never even thought about it; maybe that’s the real trouble. He started thinking, and he started believing he had any right to privacy. Wanted to wrap himself in a story and bury the truth somewhere deep, as he always would.

Can’t hide this story, though. That’s what makes it different now.

Thank God for the cold weather. He’s layering, his jacket easily obscuring the changes. But that’s a temporary fix, and he knows it. He’s running out of time.

Donna’s right. He’s burying a secret that will be found. The only decision is whether he wants to reveal it himself, or if it wants it dug up and revealed like something he’s ashamed of. Like some crime he’s committed in shame. They’ll muddy it up. The vultures. They’ll tarnish it and dirty it up, the way they always damage good and loving things.

The same way they’re going to step on and trash his relationship.

He leans forward, presses his hands—and then his forehead—against the porcelain tiles. Lets the hot water spray down his back. It stings, but he doesn’t want to move.

Doesn’t realize he’s crying until he hears himself. He halts his breath for a minute, almost startled. But as soon as he becomes aware of it, it gets worse. He’s shaking and crying and it doesn’t really help, but it doesn’t matter what he does anyway. Doesn’t really matter how he spends all this time by himself.

The world is cold and terrifying and he’s alone so much of the time anyway.

He’s not as strong as he thinks he is. Not as smart. Not as clever, not as brave, not as anything as he wants to be. He sure went and fucked things up this time.

Could’ve taken all of his secrets to the grave. There’s no judgment of a relationship that doesn’t exist. No judgment of a body that’s perfect. No judgment of a sound mind and a clear voice saying words they want to hear.

Why does he lie so often. Why wouldn’t he? It’s always easier to lie.

It’s just good business.

Lets that hot water burn for a few more minutes, but it’s not doing any good and he’s burning to his bones. His skin is turning red. Shuts the water off and lingers there in the silence, realizing he’s done little but to wind himself deeper. He doesn’t feel better at all.

Steps out of the shower a bit carefully, because he doesn’t feel entirely steady on his feet. Grabs a towel a bit clumsily, drapes it around himself for warmth against the cool ambient air. Almost shivers, because his skin is still so hot and this room is so cold, now.

Doesn’t realize he’s being watched until he glances towards the doorway. Sees a familiar shadow, a silhouette he’d know anywhere.

“Back already,” he says. Puts on a familiar smile, a greeting. But he doesn’t even know what time it is. Glances towards the windows, but it’s difficult to know because it’s so dark out there.

Bruce is approaching him slowly. Cautiously.

It concerns him.

Bruce is staring at him, almost skeptically and Dick manages a faint laugh, “What.” Starts patting himself dry, because it’s still much too cold.

Bruce interrupts. Leans forward and winds a strong, almost assertive arm around his back. Fingertips pressing carefully against his skin, almost seeming to notice the temperature. Bruce is frowning, but Dick doesn’t know why. Doesn’t find it worthwhile to ask.

There’s really nothing to say. Bruce pulls him closer, into a more solid embrace and Dick feels himself crumbling, almost instantly wanting to sink against him and abandon the willpower it demands to stand by himself. There’s still some tense air in his throat and his eyes ache, and he knows it doesn’t take too many clues for Bruce to know what’s going on.

Bruce’s voice is low and almost murmured against his shoulder. “What can I do.”

“Nothing,” Dick almost laughs, but it’s exasperation in his tone. He doesn’t want to communicate. He’s too exhausted to deal with it right now. “But thank you for asking.”

 

Tim sees the notification just before he heads out on patrol. Checks his phone, to make sure it’s nothing urgent. The screen illuminates with a small notification. And a familiar icon next to it.

Curiosity bites. Tugs off one of his gloves, so he can open the app. 

_Your friend Richard Grayson has just joined Instagram._

He frowns. Looks at the first post. What appears to be little more than a selfie-

Wait.

_Huh?_

 

Tim enters the Manor through the Cave, because he’s in uniform and he knows better than to walk right up to the front door. Enters from the darkness, walking slowly and cautiously as the glowing light of Bruce’s work station illuminates the giant abyss.

Bruce is in costume, but his cowl’s pulled back. He’s sitting at his desk, tinkering with something. A small gadget of some sort. He hears Tim approaching, and doesn’t even look up. Voices a flat greeting, “What do you need.”

Typical Bruce.

“Where’s Dick,” he comes a bit closer. Notices an array of small screws and bolts on the table. Small pieces for a small fix. One of his weapons must be malfunctioning.

“Asleep,” his response is swift and understated.

“No, he’s not,” Tim says with some sarcasm.

Bruce looks up at him, as if surprised at his tone.

“He was just… on Instagram,” Tim’s voice almost trails off. It’s been years, and he still feels uneasy when Bruce stares at him for too long.

“What do you need,” Bruce reiterates.

There’s something going on here. Something feels off. “I wanna see him,” Tim ventures.

“Come back tomorrow.”

That is cold. Suspiciously cold. “Why,” Tim asks.

Bruce frowns at him.

“Am I not allowed to see my own brother,” Tim almost teases. But there’s a tension in his voice.

Bruce doesn’t respond. His eyes fall back down to his gadget, fingers maneuvering something precise with a small screwdriver.

“Bruce,” because Tim doesn’t have patience or time for this.

“Yes,” Bruce is a smart-ass, as always.

“Where is Dick.”

Bruce almost appears to sigh. Exhales a tense sound, and sets down what he’s working on. Looks up again at Tim, with something resembling exasperation. “In his room.”

“Is something going on?”

“He’s tired.”

Tim can’t ignore how straight-forward that response was. He wants to assume Bruce is being honest. But that’d be rare. Possible, but rare.

“Is he doing alright.”

“Fine,” Bruce is back to the one-word answers. Familiar territory.

Tim doesn’t appear to be getting anywhere. He releases a tense sigh, and takes a seat at the table. Notices how promptly Bruce gets back to work, as if relieved. Tim pulls out his phone. Slides off his glove and types a message. Sends.

Bruce looks at him for a moment, when he sets the phone down. Seems irritated, but he’s not going to say anything. Of course.

But the response arrives quickly. Tim turns the screen on and reads it in silence. His initial question, _Are you available?_ was met with a polite, courteous reply. _Hey! Unfortunately, calling it an early night_. _We’ll catch up soon :)_

He always says that, though. Or something like it.

Tim admits defeat. Puts his phone away, and tugs back on his glove. Wonders if it’s worth the effort to even engage with the brick wall standing in front of him. Bruce couldn’t appear less interested in his presence if he tried.

“What’s wrong with it,” Tim gestures to the small device in Bruce’s hands.

Bruce doesn’t look up, but he does answer. “The spring was jammed.”

Tim nods. He doesn’t remember what that device even is. “Still going on patrol,” he asks.

“When this is done.”

“How long is he planning to stay here,” Tim speaks before he can take it back.

Bruce almost appears to flinch, but he keeps his voice level. Normal. “As long as he wants.”

“He needs to be with the father,” Tim ventures.

Bruce’s jaw tightens. Teeth grind for a second and he swallows words before he can say anything. Keeps his eyes dutifully focused on his project.

“I’m sure you know who it is, right,” Tim leans forward. “I mean, he can’t keep that secret from _you_ , right?”

“It’s his secret to tell.”

“Is it really.”

That gives Bruce pause. But his body language is rigid and tense.

“He’s sure doing a good job of not telling anyone,” Tim lowers his voice, almost down to a hoarse whisper. “That’s why he’s here, right.” His words get faster, “He doesn’t want anyone figuring it out yet.”

“This is his situation to discuss,” Bruce’s response is as concise as ever.

“Bullshit,” Tim almost hisses. Gestures in frustration, talks with his hands. “I am his brother. I should know about this.”

“He has a right to privacy-”

“I know, but I have a right to _know_ , as his family. You know what that means?” he leans forward. “Family? People that should know when something serious is going on.”

“He told you the important part of the story.”

“Are you _sassing_ me?”

Bruce gives him a direct look. Sets the screwdriver down, and starts winding one of the gears by hand. “Calm down.”

“I am calm,” Tim almost sighs. “I am entirely too calm.” He stands up. Takes a quick look around. “You know what,” and he takes a heavy breath. “I’m gonna go see him.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“No,” Bruce snaps the gadget open, and lets it snap itself closed. Seems repaired enough. “Come back another time.”

“But then he’ll have some other excuse-”

“You will wait for his permission.”

“Why.” Shoulders shrugged, “I’m always waiting-”

“And you will keep waiting.”

“Is… is that why he’s here,” Tim’s voice is small and fragile. “It’s cause of you, isn’t it.”

Bruce wordlessly starts putting some of his supplies away. Screws and bolts back into their proper compartments and shelves.

Tim’s eyes narrow, “You don’t care about the rest of us. You don’t care how we feel. Fuck everybody else,” Tim starts shaking, “As long as he’s happy, right.”

“Tim,” Bruce cautions him.

“Does the father have an opinion about this. Has anyone asked him what he thinks?”

“You’re going too far.”

“Is he content to be a secret,” Tim clenches his hands into fists. “Or is this just something he’s accepted-”

“ _Man_.”

Tim stops. Looks up. Past Bruce, and into that familiar darkness. At a figure that emerges in the doorway. A slow sip from a small cup and a few steps forward.

A familiar smirk, and weary eyes that look from Tim to Bruce, almost in awe. “Thought I heard something funny.” He almost shivers, “Geez, the air in here is thick.”

“You should rest,” Bruce immediately says, adjusting his holster.

“Oh, I have been.” Another sip of his tea. Grins a bit wider at a very perplexed Tim, before returning his gaze to Bruce. “Why are you still here.”

“Had to get some work done,” Bruce says.

“A spring got jammed,” Tim says flatly.

“Go to work,” Dick teases. “Both of you. What are you even talking about.”

Tim isn’t sure what to say. Even Bruce makes an uncomfortable sound.

“Oh,” Dick tilts his head. Says faintly, “I get it.” But he shrugs, “But I’m sure your work is more interesting.”

Tim quips, “Says the guy who hasn’t worked in weeks.”

“And I miss it every day,” Dick responds.

Tim’s eyes fall downward, with a tinge of regret.

Dick tries again. This time, to Bruce specifically. A hand on his arm, “You should go.” Leans towards him, clarifies. “Do your patrol.” Bruce looks at him, almost with concern. Something in his eyes that’s not entirely defined or clear. Dick holds his gaze. Nods. Speaks quietly, “I’ll handle this.”

Bruce’s voice is slow and cautious. “Are you sure.”

“Yes,” Dick nods. Pats his arm reassuringly. “I’ll take care of it.” Sets his tea down on the table. Reaches up with both hands. Swiftly—almost too swift, like he’s done this before—reaches back and grabs Bruce’s cowl, tugging it forward. Tugs it on and adjusts it into place, with an amused smirk as Bruce seems to recoil from the attention. “Go to work, babe.”

Bruce tenses, noticing what he just did. But Dick isn’t treating it like an accident. Leans forward and kisses him on the lips, firmly and with determination before dismissing him with a pat on the shoulder. Says faintly, “It’s okay.”

Bruce gives that a moment of thought. And nods one time. Almost whispers, “call me if-”

“I know,” Dick mouths the words back. Keeps his eyes on him until Bruce turns away and starts to leave. A slow, dramatic walk; heavy steps with intent and caution. He doesn’t want to leave. Dick knows that. But he will, because he respects Dick’s wishes more than his own.

Dick is almost afraid to look back at Tim. But if he doesn’t, what was this even for. Turns slowly and reaches for his tea, almost immediately. Takes a slow sip as he looks over at him.

But Tim’s eyes aren’t on him. They’re on the floor. When he speaks, his voice is rough and blunt. “The hell is this.”

Dick almost sighs, “You wanted to know-”

“I wanted to know something decent, and honest,” Tim says. Looks up at him, and angrily tugs his cowl back. Reveals an awful expression. There’s something in his eyes that Dick has never seen before. “You’re supposed to tell me you’re with someone that cares about you, that’ll support you-”

“I am.”

“What kind of joke are you playing?”

“Timmy,” Dick reaches out, a comforting hand towards him, but Tim recoils away.

“Who actually is it?”

“Tim.”

“No more games. No more jokes.” Tim starts to visibly shake. “I don’t care if he’s a nobody. I don’t care if he’s a villain. I don’t care if it’s someone I can’t stand-”

“Timmy,” Dick tries again, with a hand on his shoulder.

Tim impulsively swipes it away. Slaps his arm and Dick pulls it back with some shock. “Tell me who it is,” but his voice is wavering. “Just tell me the truth. Remember that? The actual truth?”

Dick takes another sip of his tea. Closes his eyes, and inhales deeply. Lets it out slowly.

“Dick, if you don’t tell me, I swear to God-”

“I already did,” Dick says faintly. Feels his eyes welling up before he can finish the words, but he has to try. “I’m right where I should be-”

“With _him_? With your dad,” Tim’s words are sharp.

“He’s not my-” and Dick bites his lip, because he hates phrasing it that way.

“Except he is,” Tim says with a trace of something acidic in his voice. “You are aware of that, right.”

Dick sighs again. Tilts his head back, an idle hand raised to rub at his neck, “But he’s not, Timmy.”

“You can’t say that.”

“Huh,” Dick’s eyebrows go up, as his jaw goes slack with some disbelief.

“You can’t say something like that. That doesn’t make it true.”

“Who are you,” and Dick speaks slowly and politely, “to tell me who he is.”

“What,” Tim almost snarls.

“I love you,” Dick says, in a kinder tone.

“Don’t even start-”

“But I’m not your brother,” Dick shakes his head. Slowly, like it hurts to move. He feels his face tensing up. Getting flushed, but he can’t stop now. “Long time ago, I said I was, cause that’s easier, but I lied.” His voice is so weak it threatens to break, “I’m sorry.”

“But you are,” Tim objects with growing exasperation. “Legally. You’re _adopted_ -”

“I’m not,” Dick shakes his head again. Does his best to keep his eyes on Tim. To give him enough respect to not look away.

“But your legal name, you’re… you’re a Wayne-”

“Yeah,” Dick nods, but when he breathes in he shivers and his eyes are welling up. He feels so warm, now. Unbearably warm. “You know, tax reasons-”

“Give me a break,” Tim almost exclaims. “Give me a fucking break-”

“And healthcare reasons, and bills- It… it’s easier-”

“What are you even talking about-”

“I mean, who wants to raise a baby as a single parent?”

“Wait,” Tim puts a hand out, as if to pause Dick in motion. “Wait.”

Dick takes another sip of his tea, but it stings.

“You planned this,” Tim emphasizes.

Dick doesn’t say anything.

“You _planned_ this. With him,” Tim points to the shadows, to where Bruce once stood. What feels like hours ago, now, these long minutes.

Dick speaks so quietly there’s almost no sound, “With my husband.”

“I’m sorry?” Tim leans forward, “I didn’t catch that.”

Dick feels his throat closing up, but he forces it out with more strength, “With my husband.”

Tim freezes in motion. His hand slowly falls. Stares Dick down, for what feels like centuries. Finally does a slow blink and looks away.

Dick shrugs. “So yeah. I am legally a Wayne.”

“Since when.”

“I dunno, it’s been a couple years-”

“A _couple years_ -”

“I mean, we’ve been together for _many_ years,” but Dick almost regrets making that correction. Because the look Tim gives him is almost feral. But Dick can’t stop what he started to say, now. He has to complete the statement. “Got a bit more serious,” with some hesitation, “after we got back together.”

Tim’s expression starts to fall, “So were you ever…”

“I’m not your brother.” Shrugs, but it’s heavy and tired. “I never was. But I love you,” he nods.

“Fuck you,” Tim says under his breath.

Dick sets down his tea cup, back onto the table. Steps forward, “Tim.”

“Fuck you-” and he starts to leave.

Crosses paths with Dick, and Dick has a firm hand on his shoulder, “Timmy, listen-”

But Tim shoves him back, “You _fucking_ asshole,” hard.

Dick catches himself against the table, but he remains how he landed, slightly recoiled.

“Don’t ever speak to me again.”

Dick parts his lips to say something, but there’s no sound.

“All you ever do is fucking lie, anyway. That’s all you know how to do anymore.” Tim leaves in a hurry, pulling his cowl up and storming off. Steps into the shadows creeping at the doorway, and pauses there, as if noticing something. Stops and stares at something—or someone—and continues his exit.

Dick straightens himself out. Stands up and pulls up a chair to the table. Sits down in silence, sliding his cup towards him. Holds it firmly with both hands, but his hands are shaking so he can’t lift it. Notices it’s starting to go cold. Feels his body tense, so tense; when he hears footsteps behind him, he doesn’t even have to move to acknowledge them. He knows who it is.

He always does. But he’s not able to say anything this time.

Dick’s attempts to speak are dissolving into an empty sob, and then a more audible one as he covers his face with his hands. Feels a reassuring touch on his shoulders, Bruce’s solid grip on them and a slow massage to help soothe his nerves. It doesn’t really help, though, because he can’t stop shaking and once he starts crying he can’t stop doing that, either.

He sobs and his voice is hoarse and awful and he hates for Bruce to see him this way.

Bruce leans down. Speaks quietly and gently, and it’s so uncharacteristically faint that Dick almost doesn’t hear it. “Did he hit you.”

Dick attempts to shake his head, but it doesn’t fully communicate.

“Did he hit you,” Bruce repeats.

“No,” Dick manages. But his voice is hoarse and he can’t manage much beyond that. So he leans forward into his hands and cries a bit louder.

Bruce’s hands still haven’t left his shoulders.

“Bruce, go,” it sounds rough, but it’s because he can’t manage anything different. He hopes that Bruce understands.

“You need to rest-”

“And you need to work,” and that last word is almost lost. “Don’t let me,” and he’s inhaling with another broken sob, “Don’t let me hold you back-”

“I’m here for you.”

“I know, but you… your work is-” and he doesn’t know how to vent his frustration.

“It can wait,” Bruce says.

“No,” Dick almost yells, because he knows anything quieter would be lost. Throat’s too tense. Emotional state is too unstable. “I just…”

Bruce pauses. Waits.

“Need to be alone,” it’s a bit broken, but he’s hoping it got through.

Bruce squeezes his shoulders in affirmation. “I’ll come home early.”

Dick nods. Feels Bruce’s hands let go, and hears his footsteps moving away. Manages to sit up a bit more, sighing heavily as he stares out into the empty room. “Bruce,” and the footsteps stop. “I love you,” he says.

The footsteps resume, “I love you, too.”

 

Sunday. Dick doesn’t know how long he’s been asleep. He wakes up in Bruce’s arms; seems like it’s been days since that happened. For the first time in a long while, Bruce didn’t wake up first.

His body hurts. Doesn’t know if it’s from the crying or the growing pains.

A low buzzing noise. So that’s what woke him up. Bruce’s phone, on the dresser. He’s not going to like that. Bruce stirs with a low, heavy exhale but he doesn’t yet get up. The phone buzzes again.

“Do you need to get that,” Dick asks quietly.

“Mm,” Bruce responds in a low murmur. Doesn’t move further. The phone buzzes again.

“Maybe you should,” Dick suggests.

Bruce doesn’t say anything. Remains where he is, a heavy arm draped over Dick’s chest.

The phone falls silent.

…and starts buzzing again.

Bruce almost curses, and finally moves with an irritated sigh. Sits up slowly, the bed moving as he crawls around Dick’s body, clumsy and stiff from sleep as he stands upright. Eyes only half-open as he approaches the noisy phone with heavy feet. Checks the screen.

Tinkers with his phone for another minute, typing a message before he sits it back on the dresser and returns to the bed.

“Is it important,” Dick asks.

“No,” Bruce says.

“You can call them back if you need to,” Dick says.

“No,” and Bruce is crawling back into the sheets.

“What time is it,” Dick turns slightly, as Bruce slides in behind him, returning to their familiar half-embrace.

Bruce settles in. “10.”

“Mm,” Dick acknowledges quietly. “Are you even still tired,” he teases.

“Are you.”

“A bit, yeah,” Dick says. Turns fully onto his side and tries to get comfortable, but it’s difficult with the body aches.

“I’ll stay with you.”

Dick grins faintly. “You don’t have to.”

But Bruce doesn’t say anything. Settles in, get comfortable and pulls him closer the way he always does.

“Goodnight,” Dick teases.

Bruce kisses the back of his neck.

 

“I’m kind of concerned.”

Gotham is more vast and endless than Steph remembered. Lights glittering for miles and miles against the backdrop of darkness above. She’s sitting with Jason on a ledge, as he’s drinking a cup of coffee he acquired from one of the cafes below. She hopes he paid fair price for it.

“About what,” Jason’s saying quietly.

But first, Steph gives him a critical look, as if distracted. “How can you drink coffee this late.”

“Still got a long night ahead,” Jason says.

“I bet.”

“How can I be of assistance,” he’s almost teasing.

She lowers her voice, “We’re alone up here, right.”

“You don’t hang with Bats much, do you.”

“Why,” she pouts.

“You’d never ask that if you did.” He pauses, and then says in a dramatic, low voice, “Eyes everywhere. Ears across all of Gotham.”

Steph laughs quietly.

“Nah, it’s cool,” he shrugs. “No one gives a shit about me. Anyone that matters knows I’m not him, anyway. I’m just some nobody.”

“Bet they’re wondering where he is,” she muses.

Jason shrugs. “Think they’re more so bored. He’s more fun than I am.”

“Sparring partners,” she quips.

“He’s got a lot of friends.” He chuckles, “Even some of the crooks he’s thrown in jail think highly of him.”

She acknowledges that with a faint smile.

“So come on. Get on with it.”

She leans in. Pauses before she asks, but when she does, her face erupts into an almost childish glee. “Who’s the daddy.”

Jason stares, and then caves to a fit of shallow laughter.

“You do know, right,” she scoots closer.

“Course,” he says. “I know everything.”

“So who is it.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he teases. Takes a long sip from his coffee and exhales a pleasured, “ah,” afterwards.

“I asked Tim, but he refused to tell me.”

“Whoa,” that catches Jason off-guard. “He actually told him.”

“Must have.”

“How’d he react,” and there’s a touch of seriousness in his tone. Concern, almost.

“Not well,” Steph grumbles. “He’s refusing to tell me, but it’s not.. because he’s being polite. I think he’s… actually upset.”

“Mm,” but he doesn’t say more, as if concerned his words would betray his feelings on the subject. Jason’s like that, Steph thinks. He wouldn’t like to reveal his emotional stake in anything that’s happening.

“Okay, so let’s reason it out together,” she smirks at him, and leans even closer. “Someone we know. Someone close to him, someone that’s… around. Often.”

“Mhm,” Jason says, taking another sip from his cup.

“Someone we wouldn’t bat an eyelash at, cause he’s… always there.”

“Ah,” Jason says, with some surprise.

“Tim couldn’t figure it out,” she says faintly, “Cause he was thinking of it the wrong way. He thought it was someone we never see. …But he’s mad. He’s really mad. Because it’s someone he knows, right?”

Jason tilts his head.

“Someone we see often.” She slides even closer, so close their legs are almost brushing together. Lowers her voice. “They’re even together right now, I bet.”

Jason smirks. “Not for another few hours.”

Steph gasps.

Jason smugly takes a long sip of his coffee.

“When his patrol ends,” Steph says with contented reassurance.

“Don’t need to hide someone in plain sight.” Jason grins at her.

She pauses. Gives him an intent, suddenly focused stare. Leans closer for emphasis.

He leans back, as if uncomfortable.

“It’s not you, is it.”

“God no,” he immediately recoils. “No offense.”

“Phew,” she exhales with relief.

He shakes his head, “Too much drama. I’m not about that life.” He adds, “Also, he’s my brother. Kind of.”

Steph makes an exasperated sound.

Jason’s taking another sip from his cup, when he notices her expression. Frowns. “What.”

Voice fragile, as if fighting to regain strength. “He’s not your brother.”

“Hm.”

She almost hits him with excitement, “Oh my god.”

“Are you gonna be okay,” Jason asks with some sarcasm.

“That’s why he’s so pissed,” she hits him again, for emphasis.

“Ow,” he cringes.

“Because this whole time, he thought it was something different. And he _hates_ being wrong,” she almost squeals.

Jason watches her response evolve with increasing amusement, as he finishes his coffee.

“Oh my god, how did I miss this.” She gives Jason a pained look, “How stupid are we.”

Jason shrugs.

“Jay,” she grabs him by the shoulders, and almost shakes him.

“Whoa,” he gives her a startled look.

“Am I right. Tell me I’m right.”

“Right about what,” he teases.

She whispers, “He’s not his dad.”

“Who’s not who, now,” but he’s fighting—and losing—the battle to keep a wide smirk off his face.

“Daddy Bats. He’s not his dad.”

“He’s a daddy, alright,” Jason quips.

Steph almost shrieks.

“My ears,” Jason whines.

“How long has this been a thing,” she pleads with him. Hands digging tightly into his shoulders.

“God, you’re strong,” he notices.

“How long has this been going on.”

“I dunno,” he says.

“Jay,” she whines.

“I really don’t.”

She lets go, and he idly rolls his shoulders to ease some of their discomfort. She looks at him sheepishly.

“Probably before I met either of them.”

“Really,” she barely breathes.

“They were on, and then off for a while,” he shrugs. “They got back on at some point, after things went south with Babs, and then Selina.”

“I remember that,” she says quietly. “Dickie was really sad about Babs.”

“He recovered,” Jason scoffs.

Steph frowns, and then gives him a lopsided grin. “I knew there was something off about them.”

Jason shrugs. “They’re weird.”

She puts her hands on her face, fingertips pressed against her cheeks. Closes her eyes, almost whimsical, “They’re in _love_.”

Jason gags. “I need to get back to work.”

He’s rising to his feet, but Steph stops him with a direct look and a more serious tone. “Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“Are they gonna be okay?”

“Who’s they,” he almost grumbles.

“Dickie. And Tim. He didn’t even want to bring it up-”

Jason makes an exaggerated expression, but it’s difficult to see exactly what he means.

Steph pouts, waiting for more of a response.

Jason looks down at her, and makes his exasperation clear. “Tim’s such a kid.”

Steph blinks at him innocently, but there’s a slight smirk on her lips.

“So dramatic.” He almost scoffs, “He’s not the one having the baby.”

“ _Jay_ ,” Steph scolds him, but her voice shakes with amusement.

Jason shrugs.

 

Dick tries to make it a habit to not need anyone. A support system is a healthy thing, an encouraging thing. But to need someone is a sign of vulnerability, a weakness he’d rather bury and force himself to move on from. He wants to be around someone. Craves it. But to need. To need is frightening.

He’s been crying for three days. On and off. He’s thinking back to those brave words he told Donna, but he’s losing his resolve. He can’t handle more reactions like the few he’s received so far. He can’t shoulder the weight of more disapproval. Angry voices and harsh words. Friends he’s loved for years turning their backs as if he’s disgraced himself—how? Like he’s brought them irreparable shame.

A quiet voice in the background, a cheerful tone and ambient music floating in the air like something from days past. He opens his eyes from a half-awake dream of dizzying sights and sounds; can’t see anything at first, can’t focus right away. His face is pressed against the couch, hair in his eyes as he clumsily reaches up to brush it back. Unwinds himself from the way he was, sits up slowly to realize he’s in the living room. What time is it. How long has it been. Bruce just left-

Oh.

Bruce left at least an hour ago. Must be. Glances over. It’s raining outside, the same as it was this morning. He’s as alone as he ever was.

He can do this. He’s done more than this before.

Stares in silence, ahead at the bright colors on the television screen as a cartoon character smiles at him and waves to the audience. One of his favorite shows. He’s remembering a time when it brought him joy. In those first couple weeks, when all he felt was happiness. Excitement. If he can remember it.

Before he realized he was making a mistake. No, he can’t call it that- That’s not it.

It’s just stress. Tells himself that as he leans forward, elbows pressing into his knees, face in his hands. It’s just stress. He looks down to the soft carpet, listens to the pleasant music of the cartoon, realizes he’s seen this episode before. He made a mental note to himself, that when the baby is born, he’d remember this show. They could watch it together-

He closes his eyes. A sound escapes from his throat, something mangled and sore. Not quite a gasp or a sigh, only something lost and broken. Breathes in deep and exhales slowly, because that’s what his doctor told him to do. He’d been feeling a bit wound up, he said. She told him to relax as much as he could, just breathe slower and take everything one step at a time. Focus on the happiness, she said. Realize it’s a miracle and embrace it. A child is a gift, she said. Especially this one, because he wanted one so badly.

Hands obscuring his face, fingertips pressed against his forehead and he’s sinking into himself, rocking his body slowly but it doesn’t help.

The pleasant music of the television show, and he’s wondering when this started to feel more like a nightmare than a blessing. He frowns and his face is wet, there’s water on his palms, when did that happen and instead of fighting anymore he just lets it out. Cries quietly like a gentleman, but that only lasts for a few aching, extended minutes and then he starts to howl, shaking and gasping and sobbing so heavy his chest hurts, crying so loud because he knows no one’s home, knows no one can hear him anyway.

He doesn’t want to be alone, but he doesn’t want anyone to see him like this.

Keeps his face buried in his hands and he howls, and howls.

 

“You should come home early this evening,” were his first words over the line. Almost faint. “I’m a bit worried. I have never seen him behave this way.”

But it’s the first time, in a while, that Bruce has obligations he shouldn’t avoid. Meetings he can’t realistically reschedule. “How is he,” he keeps it quiet.

“Distraught.”

Bruce keeps the phone held to his face, but he doesn’t know how to respond. His eyes are falling away, a weary look towards the meeting room and a heavy pain in his chest. What does that…

“Master Bruce,” Alfred’s confused voice on the line, as the silence drags on a bit too long. “Are you still there?”

“Yes,” he says quickly.

“I understand you are quite occupied. It is not an emergency, I assure you. But if you could please… when you are able,” and Bruce can’t remember the last time he heard such—what almost could be— _pain_ in Alfred’s voice. He speaks so quietly his voice is almost incoherent. “I am at a loss on what to do.”

“Hold on,” Bruce says.

“Master Bruce-”

“Hold on,” he repeats, for emphasis. With a tension that travels up his back and to his neck as he shrugs slowly. But his eyes are somewhat distant; increasingly far away. “I’ll be there soon.”

There are things more important than work, he thinks. But on certain days it doesn’t seem like a fair trade. His company is being stretched so thin. Many things hang in the balance-

He returns to the meeting, and quietly starts to pack up his paperwork. Ignores the few curious looks from his peers. Dutifully, silently files away his printed spreadsheets and notes and he only glances up when the speaker says his name. “Bruce,” with an almost confused pause, “Are you leaving us, so soon.”

“I apologize,” and he feigns a subtle smile, letting some of the weariness show. “There’s something I must attend to.”

“Bruce, honestly-”

“I did not anticipate that it would… be an issue,” he clarifies. Closes his briefcase. “I will attend the briefing tomorrow. I trust you all to steer the ship just fine in my absence.”

“Bruce, this is the third time this week-”

“I have,” but he trails off, because doesn’t want to say too much. Stands up and rests his hands on his chair, thinking it over before he speaks. “Someone I care for,” he nods, more to himself than them, “is going through a difficult time. Please forgive my need for privacy.”

But as he turns to leave, the speaker interrupts him. “Bruce.”

Bruce pauses. Looks over his shoulder.

“Look,” the man nods. “I know there must be a lot going on right now, but you can’t keep running around like-”

“This is not the forum for this discussion,” Bruce is prompt to shut him down. Eyes heated and jaw solid. “I will not discuss my personal affairs-”

“Dick won’t tell us anything, you won’t tell us either! Then who will?”

Bruce stands firm.

“With all due respect, this is our company, too. I think we have a right to know what’s going on.” The man shakes his head, “Before god knows what paparazzi gets the scoop, and plays us for a bunch of fools.” Mouth tight, eyes sharp, “is that what you want for us. To be so out of the loop that we look even _more_ out of touch. That we can’t even keep tabs on our own CEO and his son.”

“Not my son.”

The man’s eyes widen slightly.

Bruce doesn’t realize what he said. Clears his throat. “You will refer to him properly.”

But there’s a lot of confusion in the faces now looking at him. Confusion, and doubt. Feels like he should explain it. Doesn’t want to explain it. He’s in danger of crossing a dangerous line.

“Now if you will excuse me,” he turns away again. Walks to the door before they can say another word. Too much time lost, already. Too much pointless chatter.

Who do they think they are, anyway. Like they have any right to know. No-

Who gave them the right to even question it.

He’s walking down the hallway and he’s feeling an anger building up within him, something twisting and coiling up in his stomach and he’s tightening his fingers so tightly around the handle of his briefcase that he’s thinking they might snap it.

 _Not my son_ , he said. He could he. No-

Why hasn’t he said that sooner.

Reaches the end of that long hallway, and emits a small sigh. Is it really too late, now. Did they let the lie run too far ahead? He doesn’t even remember what they were lying for. Maybe Dick would. Maybe he wouldn’t. Does it even matter anymore. It’s been so much time. It’s been so many years.

He’s staring at the door, motionless, so unnaturally still as he’s hearing the sounds of business and tireless work all around him. Discussions and phone calls and footsteps and he’s feeling like none of this matters, none of it matters half as much as they believe it does.

He’s at risk of losing something a lot more important than this goddamn company.

 

Dick’s phone chimes. He ignores it, initially. But it continues.

From where he’s sitting on the couch, he reaches over and checks the screen. A series of messages from Donna. “Have you seen this,” she wrote. Linked a website he hadn’t ever expected to grace their conversation, a major news network. Timestamped only twenty minutes ago. And he’s almost scared to open the link, but he’s more afraid of avoiding it and letting his fear build upon itself.

_Bruce Wayne announces resignation as CEO of Wayne Corporation_

A few paragraphs into Bruce’s written statement, there’s a line that captures his attention: “Wayne Corporation has been an important staple of my life from the very beginning. But in our adventurous, tumultuous history together, I lost sight of who I am as a husband and father.”

And he reads that line again, to make sure those words were correctly placed. To make sure they exist.

His hands are shaking.

Bruce is staying “involved” with the company. He wonders to what extent, exactly, that means. He can’t imagine him completely removing himself from the picture; he’s much too controlling of his assets. But he’s can only think so much on that, before his eyes roam back up to those words. _Husband. Father._ Published them for the world to see.

Bruce didn’t mention his name, anywhere in the text. He almost wishes he had.

Familiar sounds—heavy steps with boots wet from rain, the momentary shuffle down the hall as he unlaces and slides them off—and the shuffle of his briefcase being set down, his coat being slid off as Alfred’s voice, his kind and gentle voice addresses someone. He’s not prepared to see him right now. He doesn’t know how he’s going to respond.

He keeps his expression calm, but he still feels himself rattling, up his spine and to his shoulders. Eyes unfocused as he chews on his bottom lip. Doesn’t turn to acknowledge him, in case his face betrays him. Hurriedly sets his phone down, in fear he might drop it.

But when Bruce stands next to him, so perilously close, Dick isn’t thinking anymore. He leans forward, throws his arms around Bruce’s waist and embraces him tightly. His voice isn’t as strong as he wants it to be. “You didn’t have to.”

Bruce presses a hand against Dick’s back, and massages it with fondness. “I did.”

Dick is swift with an objection, “I would’ve been able to-”

“No.”

Dick looks up, and Bruce is kneeling down to be at his level. Rests at the edge of the couch. His face wears an expression Dick has not seen in a long time. Something somber, something almost… sad and when Bruce leans forward, Dick is expecting a kiss but instead receives an embrace, arms heavy around his shoulders. “You’re carrying too much weight,” Bruce says.

He’s said that before. He wouldn’t repeat his own words unless he deeply meant them. “But I got myself into this mess,” Dick is trying to lighten the mood with a softer tone.

Bruce kisses the side of his face, a light touch with gentle affection. “Do you regret it.”

“No,” and it’s the only thing he’s been certain of in a very long time.

“Then,” Bruce holds him closer. “Don’t treat it as a mistake. I’m going to help you.”

“You don’t have to-”

“I’m worried.”

Dick’s eyes widen, as Bruce pulls back from him. They exchange a mutual look, heavy eyes laced with too many emotions to adequately voice. So they don’t try. Dick leans forward, presses his forehead against Bruce’s and they share that moment, breathing slow, heavy, bodies tense.

“I’m going to take care of you,” Bruce says.

Dick catches himself sniffling. Can’t say anything, so he just nods.

Bruce kisses his face again—he’s doing that so often, lately—just above his brow. Bruce’s hand pressed to the back of his head, his fingers laced in his hair. “Don’t be afraid.”

 

The television is glowing in the background, and she’s looking at the light fixture, trying to make sense of what’s going on, and what that dangling wire is doing there. Tries to fiddle with it a bit more, but gently, cautiously, trying not to damage anything worse. “Dang it-” but no one’s there to hear it.

Where’d he go- “Timmy,” she calls. “Can you hand me the pliers?”

No response. Is he even in the room _…_ Grumbles to herself and slowly steps down the ladder. Feet tapping against the hardwood floor and it’s only when she turns the corner that she sees why he’s so transfixed. A very familiar image on the screen.

A familiar person, rather.

“What are they doing now,” she jokes. But Tim doesn’t respond. Sits with his back to her, hands wringing themselves with some tension. Must be something serious.

Looks at the headline, the caption above footage of Bruce Wayne, looking composed and calm as he always does. _Bruce Wayne’s Announcement a Red Flag for Wayne Corporation._ “Man,” she sighs, “All they ever care about is that dang company.”

Rummages in a drawer for where the tools might be. She was planning to ask Tim where he left them, but he appears pretty distracted so… Is that- No, that’s the screwdriver. That’s a- Is that a stud finder? She thought they’d lost that one forever.

Hears a reporter laughing about something. Looks up to see what the fuss is about.

“I just don’t know what to think,” her grin is wide and lopsided, her eyes frowning with scrutiny. “First we’ve got Dick, and now we’ve got Bruce, who’s next? Is there anyone in that family left to abandon ship?”

She rests her face in her hands and listens a bit closer.

“Right,” the co-anchor laughs more audibly. He shakes his head, “Look, I think their _health_ and _family_ issues are as legitimate as… gosh, next thing you know it, we’re gonna have _another_ Wayne kid arriving on the scene, simply so he can run out the door and stir the pot a bit more.”

“That’s rude,” Steph says quietly.

“It’s all drama at this point,” the man on the screen shrugs.

“Bruce Wayne is calling himself a _husband_ , now,” his co-anchor says. “What do you make of that?”

He throws up his hands. “I’m sure he eloped with one of his mistresses.”

Steph scoffs.

“I’m much more concerned about who’s running this company while this circus is going on, to be honest.”

“Well, we’ve heard a few names floated for that one, haven’t we-”

“Sure, there’s been a few. Likely the same guys that have been running this show for months now…”

“Timmy,” Steph raises her voice. “Hun.”

“Yeah,” but he barely sounds engaged. Looks over his shoulder, his expression a bit vacant. “What.”

“Is there anything else we can watch.”

Tim almost smirks. “What, you don’t enjoy the gossip.”

“It’s a bit much,” she says.

“He has _mistresses_ now,” Tim grins. “I wonder where he’s keeping those.”

“You know that’s nonsense,” Steph says.

“They’re married,” Tim says.

“Huh,” Steph’s jaw goes slack.

“Did anyone tell you.”

Steph frowns.

“Bad enough they’re having an affair. They went and made it legal,” Tim almost grimaces. “Now what am I supposed to do.”

“I don’t-”

“Am I stuck with these weirdos? Can I get adopted by the Clarks or something.”

“Tim.”

“Why can’t we just have a normal family,” and he looks back at the television. Back to the footage of Bruce playing to the cameras, with a fitting caption beneath; _Bruce Wayne: I lost sight of who I am as a husband and father_.

“Sounds like he’s trying,” Steph says.

Tim makes an incomprehensible noise. Somewhere between disgust and frustration.

“I’m not sure what you want them to do,” Steph attempts a different angle. Keeps her tone patient, but her words firm.

“I want them to not do any of it!”

Steph looks at him sharply.

“Sorry,” he almost instinctively recoils back. His tone. It was too much. “Sorry, I just…” Runs a hand over his face, “I _hate_ that they did this. I hate it.”

“Why.”

“Why,” he sends her a sarcastic look.

“Yeah,” she nods.

“You know what they’re up to, right? Someone told you- Jay told you, right?”

“Yeah,” she shrugs, “so.”

“They’re father and _son_.”

“No, they’re not.”

“Ye… Maybe they aren’t officially, but you can’t act like it’s… Why even go there? Why even start this debacle? Couldn’t they have done this with _anyone_ else. If all Dick wanted was a kid, then-”

“Why not have one with the person he loves,” she says.

“You’re taking _their_ side?”

She swallows hard.

“This is so freaky, and you’re on their side,” he exhales loudly, “unbelievable.”

“Timmy,” she finally changes her pitch. Pleads with him. “Have you…” but she’s not sure how to ask it.

He gives her an irritated look. “What.”

“Have you spoken to him since… you know, you…”

His expression falls away. He speaks under his breath, “Course I haven’t.”

“But he didn’t do anything-”

“It’s not like that,” he says quietly. Shoulders slumped, head down. “I can’t face him right now.”

“Maybe you just need to talk this out a bit-”

“You don’t understand,” he says. “You weren’t there.”

“Huh?”

“It’s me.” She can’t recall the last time she’s seen him so… low. Folding down into himself like this. “I said some things I- I did something… I don’t know how to apologize for it.”

“Then don’t,” she tries, gently. Steps closer. “Don’t worry about that-”

“Yeah, easy for you to say.”

“You know how he is. He… He can forgive anybody. Especially you. He loves you, so much-”

“I don’t know if I want him to.”

She stops.

“Not right now,” and he turns his attention back to the television.

 

Dick has received more text messages than he knows what to do with. “Why are they asking me about _your_ announcement,” he teases, scrolling through his phone.

Bruce makes a faint sound of contemplation, but otherwise gives no response. Moves slightly, as he gets more comfortable. Head resting against Dick’s chest, and there’s a gentle caress weaving its way through his hair as Dick keeps checking his phone his free hand. Dick frowns to himself. “Interesting.”

“Hm.”

“Sorry, can I take this one,” he asks.

“Yes.” Bruce expects him to get up and relocate, but Dick stays exactly as he is. It makes Bruce wonder when they became this comfortable with one another. How long as it been, now.

Dick initiates the conversation with a small, “Hey, what’s up,” that’s promptly followed by a small laugh. Something warm, something so refreshing to hear. “Not much, I’m just catching up on emails, text messages, phone calls,” and there’s some well-intentioned sarcasm in his voice.

“Gosh, I do too,” and those fingers are winding their way into Bruce’s hair again. Light, smoothing motions. “I know, it’s been so long,” fingertips ghosting over his neck, and they pause. For just a moment before he continues, “Oh man, I’d love to. But you know, it’s just… kind of hard for me to get out these days.”

That catches Bruce’s attention. Lets that thought ruminate.

“Yeah, damn paparazzi, you know,” but he chases it down with a laugh that’s half-forced.

Bruce nudges him, a loose fist against his arm. Dick pauses, “Just a sec.” And he looks down, with some amusement, “yeah?”

Bruce murmurs something he doesn’t hear at first.

“Sorry, what,” Dick raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t let that stop you,” Bruce says.

“Huh,” Dick’s jaw drops a little.

“Renting out a place. It’s not expensive.”

“Of _course_ it is,” but it’s a high-pitched whisper, almost excited. “Are you serious-”

“It’s easy. Anywhere,” Bruce settles back down, draping an arm loosely around Dick’s waist.

Dick gradually resumes a normal expression, but it takes some effort. “U-um, sorry,” and he’s almost blushing, “Just talking to Bruce for a second. So apparently I… can meet you somewhere? In public?” He gives a nervous laugh.

A moment of silence, as he listens.

And he bursts out laughing. It’s startling, how sudden and boisterous it is. “Yeah, I know,” he’s almost yelling. “I know, I’m sorry!” He’s shaking so much, but for once it’s a remarkable, very good thing.

He’s winding down from his laughter and it’s such a beautiful thing.

“I know, I’ll let you know. I promise.” He coughs faintly, but it’s nothing concerning. “Yes, I will. I love you too,” he says cheekily.

Ends the conversation and sighs, but there’s pleasantness in it. Something light.

“You’re not gonna rent out a gelato shop for me, are you,” he ventures with some humor.

“And the complex it’s in,” Bruce says.

“Bruce, that’s…”

“What you deserve.”

Dick Grayson does a slow blink. Does a slow exhale and sits up. Bruce follows the motion, rising up on the bed and looking at him with some curiosity. Without a word, Dick leans forward, draping his arms around Bruce’s shoulders. Face resting at the base of his neck, and he’s almost whining, something low and sensual as Bruce rests his hands on his back.

“You don’t have to do too much,” Dick says quietly.

But Bruce doesn’t skip a beat. Holds him tighter and says, “I told you. I’m going to take care of you.”

“But that’s… excessive. I think.”

“You need your friends,” Bruce says. “You need to be out in the world.”

That gives Dick a fair amount of pause.

“You don’t deserve to hide away,” Bruce says.

“Bruce,” he ventures.

“I won’t force you to tell anyone,” he clarifies. “Tell everyone as slowly as you want. However.” He almost sighs. “I make no secret of what I am willing to do for you.”

Dick’s throat tightens up. He leans back, puts a bit of space between the two of them.  Bruce is looking at him hesitantly, almost concerned he’s pressed a wrong button somewhere.

But Dick starts to smile, and once he starts, he doesn’t stop. He nods, slowly. “Than…” Nods again, and almost laughs, “damn hormones,” and he’s almost giggling as he wipes at the corner of his eye. “Thank you,” he says faintly. “I love you so much,” but he’s crying again, and he’s almost embarrassed because he sees the concern cross Bruce’s face. “It’s gonna be okay,” he says.

Bruce nods.

“I’m gonna be okay,” and for the first time in a while, he says it like he believes it.

 

“So,” a warm greeting, from a man in a suit that steps into the brilliant room. The sunlight is overwhelming, Gotham in the daylight glittering beyond the expansive windows. “Bruce. What are you planning to name your child?”

Bruce looks up. He expected the greeting, but not that question. Clasps his hands together on the desk. He’s surprised, but it’s not that Lucius knows. It’s his tone. He’s effortlessly straight-forward and it takes Bruce back for a moment before he responds.

“I’ve always thought it was one the most important decisions you can make,” Lucius’ voice escalates in volume as he approaches, and pulls out a chair beside him. “Not to put any pressure on you.”

But Bruce does respond, with a faint smile. “It’s too early. We haven’t discussed it.”

“Ah,” and the man smiles back. A slow nod.

“I have ideas,” he jokingly shrugs.

“So you _have_ thought about it.”

“I have,” but he’s not lingering on the subject, for a reason. More pressing matters are at hand. He’s prompt to change the tone, “Lucius.”

“No, no,” he’s grinning wide, even as he recoils back. “Don’t use that tone on me. The last time you used that tone, you asked me to run a billion-dollar company.” With some sarcasm, “ _Oh_. Wait.”

“Lucius,” Bruce tries again, allowing his expression to communicate a bit more kindness this time. Requesting his empathy.

“You’re not putting this on me,” He almost laughs. “I don’t know what you think I’m capable of, but…”

“I wouldn’t ask you to do it alone.”

“What, so I can share the responsibility with those clowns that attend your meetings?” With a slow, heavy shrug, “No thanks.”

Bruce leans forward, looks at him more intently. “I would help you.”

“You? You’re resigning,” a bit tongue in cheek.

“Officially,” Bruce smiles.

“Oh, I get it,” Lucius raises his eyebrows. “You want me to be your puppet, don’t you. Tell me what to do, pull my strings, send me to all your meetings… You’re asking me because I’m not as strong-willed as the rest of those old-timers-”

“I’m asking you because I trust you.”

Lucius leans back, almost surprised.

“I have no interest in leaving this company in the hands of…” and he suspiciously trails off. “Less qualified individuals.”

“You got another rat problem, Bruce,” Lucius smirks.

“Warning signs,” he shrugs. “If we act quickly, we’ll be fine.”

“You sure have a lot of interest for a former CEO.” With some humor, “You are aware that’s your title now.”

“I can’t separate myself from this company,” with a thin, tight-lipped smile. “I remain deeply invested in its future.”

Lucius almost smirks, but he idly taps his fingers on the desk’s surface. Sighs a little, but it’s from surprise more so than disappointment. “I gotta admit. I’m surprised.” He nods, “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Oh?” as he smiles more genuinely.

“Thought you were over the whole.. raising kids thing.”

Bruce almost jokes, “Well, the others are all grown up.”

“Hm,” Lucius nods. “Youngest is…”

“Tim. And then Cass, right behind him.”

“That’s right. And Jason… No kids in the house for a while, huh.”

Bruce chuckles faintly. “I skipped most of those years.”

“It’s a novel approach,” Lucius grins at him. “I thought you just didn’t like actual kids, Bruce.”

“Hand of Fate,” he says calmly.

Lucius nods, knowingly. “And Dick was…”

“Dick is not my son,” he says it before he thinks about it.

But Lucius smiles at him, “I know. But he was the youngest,” he shrugs, “when you took him in.”

Bruce allows him that point.

“He’s still young,” Lucius teases. “You better be careful. They’ll accuse him of being a trophy wife.”

Bruce’s eyes light up, but his tone carries amusement. “He’s not as young as he looks.”

“He can’t be past 30.”

“26,” he clarifies.

“And it’s his first.”

Speaks quietly. “Yes.”

“Excited?”

A slow blink. It does no good to lie to a man of high integrity. “Anxious.”

“Sounds about right,” he laughs faintly. “People always act like you’re supposed to be… over the moon, but it’s really tough. Keeping that state of mind.”

“Mm,” Bruce nods.

“Be careful,” Lucius cautions him.

Bruce raises an eyebrow.

“You get so caught up in all the stress… and you’ll forget it’s good news.”

Bruce responds in a quiet, almost somber tone, “We’ll see.”

Lucius nudges him on the arm, “Let this old man tell you a thing or two.”

Bruce’s chest shakes with some suppressed laughter.

“Get comfortable. There’s lot of wisdom in this brain, it might take a while.”

Bruce laughs audibly.

 

“So what’s with the Instagram post,” is the first thing she says.

“Nice to see you too, Babs,” Dick teases. Smiles faintly as the car starts moving.

“You know what I mean,” she doesn’t skip a beat. Gives him a sharp look from the corner of her eyes before glancing out into the distant scenery.

“What, you don’t think it’s a good photo,” but there’s something hidden in his tone. She’s heard that tone before. A few too many times.

“Didn’t take you for someone that liked social media.” She knows how to play this game.

“First time for everything, right?”

She turns and looks at him directly, fingers curled against the back of the seat. “I’m not convinced. You don’t even like checking your email.”

He exhales with some humor, slowly and with a slight roll of his eyes.

“I thought you were taking a break from press,” she digs a little deeper.

“Yeah,” he nods. Relents, just a bit. “But this feels… different.”

“Different,” she tilts her head.

“Yeah, like…” his expression relaxes, but his voice remains a bit tense. Almost like he’s on edge. “I wanna see what it’s like. To be more in control.”

Babs frowns at him.

He smirks back at her. “What does that look mean.”

“That’s one cryptic caption,” she says.

“Is it,” he smiles wider.

“ _Dick_ , _”_ with her lip upturned.

“It’s pretty straight-forward,” he says. Gets more comfortable as the vehicle meanders towards the busier part of town. This is farther away than he remembered, but that’s a good thing. The silence… feels good. It’s been such a long time since they’ve-

But no. This won’t do.

Looks at her from the corner of his eyes. She’s thinking about it. She’s not at all content with what he’s said. She’s going to keep asking, pressing, digging until he tells her. She’s sharp-tongued enough to get the truth out of him. Always has been.

Besides, what is all of this for, if he’s not even going to-

“Starting a new life,” she says.

“Ah,” he almost breathes a sigh of relief. Settles back against the chair.

“I don’t know if you’re making a bad joke, or trying to be serious,” but there’s a smirk at the edge of her words.

“Little bit of both,” he says quietly. Returns a subtle smile.

“Dick.”

“Babs,” he teases.

“What’s going on.”

A slow exhale. Eyes fall closed for a moment, heavy and the open again slowly. “A lot,” he says.

“ _Dick_ ,” because that answer’s never gonna be good enough.

Nothing but the truth is, for Babs. “I’m starting a family.”

“What, a dog or something.”

He frowns. “Why does everyone assume that…”

“You’ve said it before-”

But his voice is weaker than he intends. “Am I gonna be that bad of a parent.”

“What.”

“No one takes me seriously,” he groans. Closes his eyes again, “Then I have to tell them, and tell them, and then they get mad…”

“Are you adopting or something?”

He sends her a look, and gestures vaguely downward. “Do I look like I’m adopting.”

“You look _fine_ ,” but her words stop short when she takes a closer look. Pitch a bit lower, “oh, wow.”

“See, there it is,” he almost laughs, but it’s dry and forced. “The usual disappointment. Just waiting on the concern.”

“That’s why you’ve gone into hiding?”

He shrugs, “what else am I supposed to do.”

“Tell people,” she shrugs back.

He opens his eyes a bit wide, and leans forward for emphasis. Dramatically rests his face in the palm of his face and gives her a direct look. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m serious,” but she snickers at his expression. “That’s the kind of thing you just… have to tell people.”

“Eventually. Unfortunately.”

“It’s bothering you _that_ much,” she muses out loud.

“It is bothering me that much,” he says under his breath.

“Well,” she shrugs, “You look fine. I don’t know what you’re…” but she stops. Stares.

“Hm,” he questions.

“Wait.” Frowns. “Dickie…”

“Babs,” he quips back.

“Who’s the father.”

“Eh…” with a casual hand wave.

“That’s the controversy, isn’t it. You’re not hiding because you’re… you know, which is _weird oh my god_ - _”_

He laughs quietly.

“You’re hiding because of who it’s with. It’s the whole package.”

He pouts.

“Where did this even come from. That’s why everyone’s surprised, you know. This is… You’re hiding an entire scandal, aren’t you?”

Dick opens his mouth to speak, but he manages a hesitant silence before closing it again.

She blinks slowly. Makes a face. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“So does everyone else,” he says.

 

It’s raining harder than it has in a long time, after such a lovely afternoon. Typical of the season, the rain let up for long enough to give false hope. Rainy morning, stormy night. Wally’s pulling the blinds down over the windows of their living room, and down the hallway Linda is turning on the lights to illuminate the house.

His phone vibrates on the table, and he frowns in confusion. Leans over and checks it, to make sure it’s nothing urgent. New message. But he knows who it’s from, before he glances at the sender.

 _Sorry to bother you. I need some good news_.

Dials back, calls without thinking. “Hey,” he says in the kindest voice he can manage. “Buddy, are you okay?”

The voice on the line is weaker than he expected. “Hey, Wally.” And he’s noticing, right away, that he didn’t answer the question.

“What happened,” because there’s no sense in dodging it.

“I told Babs…”

“Oh,” and his voice falters because he knows what this means.

“I didn’t think it was this bad,” and Dick almost laughs. There’s something fragile about it. “But with everyone reacting this badly, maybe I’m… am I mistaken or something? Maybe I’m just-”

“Hold on,” he’s gotta slow him down. “What happened. What’d she say.”

“Oh, you know… the usual,” but his voice is so faint.

“The usual?”

“Not much of anything.”

“Huh?”

“She was just… quiet.”

“Oh.”

“Quiet, and suddenly she remembered she had something else to do.” But before Wally can intervene, he’s taking a sharp turn, stumbling with his voice, stumbling. “Is this really that awful, like,” and something’s cracking in his voice somewhere. “I didn’t even think it was… I didn’t think at all, until… until everyone…”

“Do you need me?”

“What,” like he’s startled.

“Dick,” he tries again, “Do you need me to swing by.”

“I don’t… I don’t know.”

So he does. “I can spare a few minutes.”

“I mean it’s kinda late, and the weather’s really-”

“Come on,” he almost teases him. Glances over his shoulder as Linda enters the room. “I’m a _speedster_ , man. It can’t touch me.”

For the first time in what feels like too many minutes, Dick laughs; it’s quiet and it’s faint, but it’s there and that’s what matters. “That’s right.”

“Hang on. Give me a few minutes.”

“Okay.”

As soon as Wally hangs up, he’s already asking Linda for permission to run a quick errand.

“Shouldn’t be more than half an hour,” he says.

But Linda’s sharp. She sees right through it. “Is he doing that badly?”

Wally makes a face.

“Geez,” she says. “Well,” and she shrugs. “Take your time. Whatever he needs.”

“Yeah,” Wally says quietly. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. Just needs to talk it out. A bit.”

That’s not really the truth at all, but it won’t be any good to worry her. Keeps a calm smile on his face as she nods in agreement. Linda’s telling him, “Try not to miss dinner,” and he laughs back as he’s stepping out, “Would I _ever_.”

 

Dick is laughing quietly, and it’s such a pleasant sound. A genuine smile stretching his face and his eyes are tired and heavy but his body’s relaxed, some of the tension lessening from his bones. He’s sprawled across the couch, head resting in Wally’s lap and Wally’s idling running his fingers through his hair. It’d be a romantic gesture, from anyone else—too personal, almost—but neither of them bats an eye at it, and Dick’s not the kind of person to ask for more space.

Dick likes human contact. He’s reassured by touch. It took a long time for Wally to get used to, because he’d never really had a friend quite like Dick before. He’d never known a friend that loved so honestly—platonic but profound—and he’d never known someone that communicated so physically. Dick has the politeness and restraint to not impose on anyone, but it didn’t take long for Wally to realize the impact in small gestures. A hand on his shoulder, an arm around his back, a warm shake of his hand. The frequent high-fives in middle school, lingering embraces in high school, and the few drunken kisses to his face in college. Over time it became more ordinary.

Dick used to call Wally frequently, often with woeful stories of how someone else had fallen for him. “We’ve only kissed, like, one time,” he’d said before. “I don’t know where she got the idea that we were _like that_ ,” he said. It’d taken a lot of patient, persistent, long talks before Dick came to understand that most people weren’t like him, that most people drew strong lines between platonic and romantic behavior and that he should take more care to not cross them so casually.

But so much of that is in the past, now.

Wally’s hands in weaving through his hair and Dick’s eyes are closing, as Wally muses to himself, “Oh, this was Jai’s favorite show.”

“Was it.” Dick isn’t not looking at the screen, but he knows the show. Hears the whimsical voices and remembers the familiar punchlines.

“Yeah,” Wally says. “You ever watched the same episode of a thing _seven_ times in one week?”

Dick laughs.

“Get used to it. Oh my god. Kids are the worst.”

Dick is giggling.

“The actual worst.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I hope so.”

“Hope so,” Wally raises an eyebrow. “You hope they’re the worst.”

Dick frowns, but there’s some humor in his discomfort. “Not what I meant.”

“Okay,” but he patiently waits. He feels the remarkably rare sensation of a point flying past his head.

“I mean, it’s just…” Dick exhales slowly, almost a sigh. “I wanna have normal problems like that.”

“Mm,” Wally nods.

“Like, oh, I have to watch this show too many times, or, hey, Billy fell and cut his knee.”

“Aw, poor Billy,” Wally chuckles.

“Or like, man, I have this lame PTA meeting to go to…”

“The _actual_ worst thing.”

“It sounds kinda fun,” Dick muses.

“Maybe for other parents. My kid’s always the troublemaker.”

“Ah,” Dick grins, knowingly.

“Everyone else is told, _oh, they’re doing so wonderfully_ and with my kid it’s like, _Mr. West, I don’t mean any disrespect…_ ”

Dick starts laughing.

“ _But we’re concerned that Jai is not receiving appropriate discipline in the home-_ ”

“Wow,” Dick’s eyes grow wide.

“I’m just, sitting there like… Excuse me?”

“That’s too much,” Dick frowns.

“Entirely too much. You have any idea how hard it is to _not_ roll your eyes in front of someone that’s staring right at you?”

“Ha ha..”

“That is skill number one, that you learn as a parent. People are gonna piss you off a lot. More than you ever thought possible.”

“Oh, no,” he closes his eyes, letting them rest.

“People are gonna straight up attack your skills as a parent and you’re just gonna have to smile, and be like, _I understand your concern,_ while resisting the urge to tell them to fuck off.”

Dick’s tiredness is showing on his face, but he still gives a shallow laugh.

“Even your own kids. _Especially_ your own damn kids.”

Dick’s chest shakes with more laughter.

“Kids are so rude. _So_ rude. But then you remember why you love them, and it’s okay.”

“Yeah…”

“Like, _son_ , you’re pissing me off, but I am going to react calmly and keep a straight face because I’m the responsible adult, and I love you. That’s what parenting feels like a lot of the time.”

“Yeah. Especially with your kids,” Dick murmurs.

“Excuse you,” but Wally laughs.

“I mean, two speedsters…” Dick whistles faintly.

“Says you.”

“What about me,” Dick grins, but he’s slowly fading out. He’s only half-awake, at this point.

“You’re gonna have a mini Bats running around. Don’t act like you’re getting a normal kid. Polite and kind and sweet,” Wally teases, poking him in the cheek.

Dick makes a face.

“They’re gonna be a handful. That kid will make mine look like angels.”

“Bruce was a polite kid,” Dick objects.

“Really,” Wally’s voice is unnervingly level.

“…Sometimes.”

“Ah, ha.”

“He was really quiet,” Dick says.

“Yeah, and I can tell you were the silent type, too.”

Dick gives a startled laugh.

“Put your genes together? I’m scared,” but he reassuringly pats him on the shoulders.

“It’s gonna be fun.”

“Yeah,” but that surprised Wally. That feels like the most optimistic thing Dick has said in a very long time. He’s almost cautious. He doesn’t want to deflate the remarkably good mood he’s in right now. “So everything’s going okay with that, huh?”

Dick yawns into his hand. “What do you mean.”

“I mean… you’re healthy. Baby’s fine.”

“Yeah,” Dick says. His breathing is slowing down. And he almost smiles, in spite of himself. “Got some good news recently.”

“Yeah?”

“Second trimester. Finally. And,” he’s almost blushing, “I got to see it already.”

“ _What_ , no way.”

“Yeah,” a nervous laugh. “So surreal.”

“Ahh,” and it’s dissolving into a wide smile.

“Even Bruce was like, _That’s interesting_.”

Wally laughs.

“Which in Bruce-speak, means, you know… it’s really amazing.”

“Man of few words,” Wally teases.

“I know what he means, though,” a sleepy murmur.

“Well, I hope so. You’re the one that’s married to him.”

“Ah ha… ah…” and a realization dawns on him.

“Huh,” Wally questions that. The trace of confusion.

“I’m gonna have to tell everyone soon,” and he yawns again.

“Which part.”

“Everything.”

“I believe in you,” Wally says, cheekily.

“I don’t,” but there’s humor in it.

“We talked about this.”

“Mm.”

“You’re gonna be fine. It’s gonna be fine.” He squeezes his shoulders, to pull him away from the heavy subject before it can manifest again. “So tell me more about that ultrasound. You don’t have a mother around to nag you, so that’s my job.”

“I have Alfred,” Dick objects.

“I’m gonna _out-_ mom Alfred.”

 

He saw his face on the cover of a tabloid magazine.

That was the final push; he could stomach rumors, online blog posts, and open-ended editorials. He’d even learned to tolerate—grudgingly—the back and forth gossip of supposedly professional anchors on television. But this magazine had the nerve to print his face, along with a misleading headline that suggested he was—as the most popular rumors suggested—partying it up to avoid the responsibilities of Wayne Corp and resume the “normal life of a billionaire playboy”.

He wasn’t even a billionaire, by any stretch; most of that money was still tied up in Bruce’s assets. But anyway.

The tv’s on in the background, to satisfy some lingering curiosity to see what stories the rumor mill is generating today. _Who is Bruce Wayne’s wife?_ at the bottom of the screen. Speculation suggests she doesn’t even live in Gotham. Smart. It’d be easy to hide someone that wasn’t ever around, to share his same spotlight.

He’s almost amused at the amount of credit they’re giving Bruce. Why would he go through so much trouble just to hide a woman?

But he catches himself in that joke, and almost recoils from his own line of logic. Indeed. Why would… he hide someone. Why did the two of them ever.

Runs his hands through his hair one more time, peering into the mirror to make sure everything seems proper. Straightens his collar. He feels too formal, but he doesn’t want to be casual. Comfortable and approachable, but professional. A slightly loose-fitting vest that obscures the obvious bump at his midsection, with widely spaced buttons. A business shirt beneath, that accentuates his arms to make them appear larger than they are. He even had Alfred cut his hair—just slightly—to clean up his neckline a bit more, to make him look more distinguished. Or something like that.

A ring of the doorbell, and he glances over his shoulder as he hears Alfred’s polite footsteps rushing down the hallway. Murmured voice as the door opens, and Alfred greets what sounds distinctly like two people. One of them more familiar than the other.

It’s been a long time.

He exhales slowly, from deep within his chest and puts on a casual smile as he turns to face the people entering the room.

Two women stand before him, as Alfred politely excuses himself to attend to the door. More voices, and sounds of heavy things being hauled around, likely camera equipment.

One of the women is one he’s known for a long time; but he hasn’t seen her for longer than he can remember. He called her out of the blue just a few days ago, and during their few minutes of conversation she’d already floated the names of three reporters to cover his story, and started making arrangements for brief phone interviews to screen each of them.

Yep. Lois Lane was _that_ good.

She looks as brilliant as she ever does, dark hair pulled back with a floral ribbon and a smile that communicates her eagerness to see him. She looks up with eager eyes, and even as her face ages and softens, still has a stare that almost makes him nervous. “If it isn’t mister Grayson Wayne.”

“It’s good to see you,” Dick says, extending a hand out.

But she scoffs at that, politely chuckling as she throws a strong arm around his back and almost throws herself into an embrace. He pats her back with a kind laughter, and she teases him, “Dashing as ever,” as she leans back and takes a better look.

“Thank you,” he grins to downplay some embarrassment.

Lois steps back and gestures with an open palm to the woman standing beside her, who’s been suppressing some laughter for the last few minutes. “Lauren. As promised.” She almost bows, “now if you’ll excuse me. I’m going to go make sure those blockheads aren’t mucking anything up over there,” gesturing to the many footsteps and crew members now shuffling through the hallway.

Dick laughs warmly, in response. “Of course.”

She sends him one more smile, and turns on her heel, leaving as the much-quieter Lauren steps forward. But with Lois out of the room, she seems to regain her confidence. Extends a polite hand out, and Dick is prompt to shake it with enthusiasm. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wayne,” she says, smiling wide. “We’ve very excited to have this opportunity.”

 

The last door to the very last vehicle in their front driveway is closed, and the last crew member steps inside as Dick watches from the window, breathing slow as he finally starts to unwind. Loosens the top button of his shirt and closes the blinds. Sun’s getting a bit too warm.

Familiar footsteps, behind him. Heavy and cautious. “How did it go.”

“Fine,” Dick says, almost too quickly. So he clears his throat and speaks more honestly. “It went well.” He almost shrugs, “You could have joined us.”

“No,” but it’s quiet and considerate. “It’s your story.”

“Not really,” he turns around. Gives Bruce a lingering look, as he steps closer. “It’s ours.”

“Did you tell them everything you wanted.”

His eyes fall. But it’s more from contemplation, than anything else. “I think so.” A moment of thought. “The essentials.”

“When does it print.”

“Hm,” he thinks that over, “Next month, I think.” His gaze meets Bruce’s and there’s a soreness behind his eyes, but he knows why. He jokes, slightly, “She said they’re bumping another story off the cover for me.”

“Good,” the man says.

“Yeah,” he sighs audibly, but he almost shakes as he does. “Good to get it out there,” but his voice is losing sound. He wants to say more, but he just nods. Closes his eyes as Bruce steps even closer, arms around him as he’s pulled into a close embrace.

There was a lot of crying earlier. So many tears.

But it was the best he’s felt in such a long time.

Lois was right. On the mark as always. The interviewer she recommended was warm, kind, and funny, once she opened up to him. She asked him open questions. She encouraged him to give honest answers with no trace of ridicule or judgement. He told her it was important to print the story as soon as possible. She assured him it’d be no problem; she said she understood his sense of urgency. His need for catharsis, to clear the air.

He took a few photos for the story; she honored his request that they be shot here at the Manor. He said he wanted people to understand what his life was actually like. How quiet, how lacking in the extravagant drama they’d been imagining. In the interview he talked about his yoga routine—cheekily—but also his quiet downtime, his supportive network of friends—without any names, of course. He talked about his hopes for his future, his personal struggle about deciding what to do with Wayne Corporation, and how he felt he still owed the company more than he’d yet provided.

He mentioned Bruce Wayne, as his closest companion. He did not use the word _husband_.

He’s standing here in Bruce’s arms and he’s wondering if he should have. But it almost felt like too much, for a story that was only a few pages. Glossy, full color pages in a magazine, but he didn’t want to overwhelm the press. Wanted to reveal their relationship in his own time; more naturally, more gradually. It didn’t feel natural to air all of his grievances at once, so he held one secret back.

But he told them he loved him.

He didn’t specify romantic, or platonic. He thinks they’ll read into it. As long as they know the essentials. “I can’t imagine my life without him,” he said.

The interviewer didn’t press him to elaborate on that response. She smiled, and almost seemed like she knew what he meant to say. Nodded warmly and segued that into a question about his hopes for the future.

His future with Bruce Wayne, she seemed to imply. But he wasn’t quite ready to make that final leap yet. She laughed warmly at his hesitation. A teasing hand on his shoulder and a smile as she moved on.

He needs to tell the rest of the people he cares about. Before the rest of the world finds out.

He knows that. He _knows_ that. But…

That doesn’t make it less terrifying.

That evening, he updates his Instagram one more time. Posts a selfie in his current outfit, with his usual cryptic text. _I landed a cover,_ he writes. _Anxious to tell you all_.

Vows not to read the hundreds of comments that come piling in. Not for a couple days, if he can help it.

Needs a few days of peace inside his own mind. A few more.

Some hours later, he’s kissing Bruce goodnight and before Bruce gets ready to leave for his patrol, he holds him close for several minutes, until Dick is closing to falling asleep. Holds him and says quietly, “I’m proud of you,” and Dick almost wants to cry again but he buries it somewhere deep.

Buries it beneath the stirrings of what feels remarkably like happiness.

 

Donna texts him the next morning, as soon as she catches up on social media. _A COVER!_ in all caps.

Dick laughs to himself, and responds. _Are you texting, instead of doing work again?_

The response is almost instant. _DICKIE YOU GOT A COVER!_

Oh, Donna. He sends a longer, more detailed response to clarify.

His phone chimes, and he reads her message in silence as he sits outside, in a quiet corner of their garden. It’s not a hobby he usually indulges, but he felt like being a little adventurous. Mixing it up a little, anyway. He’s been spending too many days inside the house again.

The ground is still wet from rain last night. Tree leaves and branches swaying in the breeze and the air is chilly, but not too unpleasant with his coat on. The air’s starting to feel like spring. Humid, but fresh and new. Lots of flowers starting to open, for the first time in weeks.

He’ll have the baby towards the end of this summer.

Oh god.

Types another response to Donna, and she’s whining now that she’d call him if she had a few minutes, because typing is tedious. He’s telling her not to worry. It’s not a big deal, it’s fine. She’s excited for him, she says. She’s _HAPPY,_ she says. Still with the all-caps, until he asks her to stop yelling at him. She sends a sarcastic emoji and types normally after that.

Another breeze sweeps through the garden and for a few minutes, he ignores his phone. Stares into the distance at all the green, bending and swaying with the wind, a graceful and beautiful pattern slithering through the trees.

Six more months. His breath catches in his throat, and with a sharp intake of air he forces himself to breathe again.

Presses his hands flat over his stomach and he’s watching that garden and he’s remembering the advice Wally gave him, before they parted ways.

“You’ve gotta remember what matters,” Wally said.

“What’s that,” but Dick was almost too tired to listen. But thank goodness he did.

“You’ve gotta remember how you felt.” He clarified, “In the beginning.”

That’s been stuck in his brain, ever since. Presses his hands over his stomach and smooths them across it, marveling at the thought of it, wondering about all those big questions the interviewer had asked him. Wonders what his future will look like, in actuality. Beyond the bullshit, open-ended answers he gave. Wonders what his child’s favorite show might actually be. Wonders if he’d prefer to read them books, because that was always something he loved as a kid.

He’s found such little time to think about those things. The realistic details. The small, wonderful ones.

“You’ve gotta remember how you felt, when you first found out.”

Yeah.

He closes his eyes. Leans back into the bench, lets the chill of the air drift over him and listens to the sounds of the leaves and the birds talking to one another. The faint warmth of sunlight on his face and he lets his mind travel back in time. Before the stress, before the frustration, before the gossip. To the fateful day, that last day in his old apartment.

He opens his eyes.

“I mean, Dick,” and Wally held his hands, held them with a surprising seriousness. “You have to keep this in perspective. You’re gonna be a dad.”

Yeah.

“Yeah, I am,” he says quietly. His voice echoes in the empty garden, but the leaves sway again in response. “I am,” and he suddenly can’t stop smiling.

Fingertips pressed over his eyes, and a few tears escape, but it doesn’t hurt anymore.

The interview’s recorded. Even if he wanted to, he can’t take it back. He can’t undo what’s been said. The future is already in motion.

He’s going to be a dad. There’s no turning back from that.

“Thank God,” he says.

Thank God.

 

It’s a quiet day, and in the very quiet manor, in a quiet room tucked down a long hallway, Alfred is sitting at his desk. Master Richard gave him an important task, and he’s completing it dutifully; to the best of his ability.

Some of this paperwork is years’ old. He has access to a database—courtesy of Master Bruce—but it’s a bit limited. The handwritten list he was given  includes a few names he’s not feeling very confident about. Star City, Keystone City, even Metropolis—these are addresses he can easily verify. Middletown? He’s never heard of this place.

“It’s no rush,” he’d been told, “But I’d be really happy if you can finalize this list by next week. I’d like to start sending invitations.”

Invitations for what will be a grand party, no doubt. This list is approaching one hundred guests. But the Wayne family never did know how to do anything on a small scale. He has to wonder if their newest addition will follow the tradition of being grandiose.

He laughs to himself, at that thought. A young child already indoctrinated to large parties, expansive meetings in quaint ballrooms and social media posts that—yes, he checks—garner thousands of “Likes” in one day.

Will the new heir follow in the tradition of his fathers, or will they choose a more subtle, humble path.

It’s a bit exciting to think about. It’s been such a long time since there was new energy in this grand old house.

He lowers his head, and gets back to work on the list. 35 down. Many more to go.

 

Dick is doing something he hasn’t done in a very long time.

He’s out in public. In the middle of a store. Without any team of security; no elaborate purchasing deals from Bruce to clear the location. He’s simply being himself, pushing a shopping cart through a fairly busy department store.

He gets a few more curious looks than he’d like. A few giggles from a group of young girls that recognize him. An incredulous stare or few. A store employee that’s very nervous speaking to him, when he asks where the home décor items are.

He dressed appropriately. A loose sweater that conceals most of his additional weight. It’s still noticeable if he leans or bends certain ways, but for casual walking, he almost looks the same as he did before. Almost. He feels lucky; his broad shoulders help to accentuate his broad chest, above anything happening in the midsection.

He’s really starting to miss his larger arms, though. Maybe he can quietly start lifting again, if he keeps it low stress.

Man, these curtains are ugly. They might match the Manor décor nicely, though. They have a dated, almost comfortable feeling.

Bruce offered to join him. He wishes he could have said yes. But it’d be too much drama, for them to be seen together. Bruce reluctantly agreed. Told him to call, if any suspicious strangers started bothering him.

Knowing how Bruce thinks, though, Dick is certain he’s tailing him, or monitoring his movements through town. He knows how his paranoid husband is. He’s learned to accept it, despite how unintentionally hilarious it is sometimes.

He almost wants to call him and ask for advice on these curtains. To ask him, point-blank, “If you can see these curtains I’m looking at, which do you prefer.” But that might be _too_ mean-spirited of a joke. He’s not sure if Bruce would laugh or feel that he’s disappointed him somehow.

Bruce has been so amazing lately. He’s really…

He pauses in motion. Hears a cellphone’s camera noise, from down the hallway. Almost wants to laugh, but he won’t let the bitterness in today. He won’t let it take hold of him, the way it usually does. Besides, photographs aren’t a problem. He looks fine. This isn’t incriminating. And in a month, when that story prints, this would only serve to add credibility to everything he said.

Oh. This print is nicer, for these curtains. This feels a bit more… light. Yes. He wants the room to feel light. Pleasant. The colors are a bit warm, but he doesn’t think that’ll be a problem.

He’s going to design the room slowly. Piece by piece, from the walls and then down to the furniture. He asked Bruce when he was half-awake this morning, but he knows that man can’t lie to him, even in his sleep.

“I want to start designing the baby’s room,” he said. “Give myself something nice to do.”

Bruce murmured something like, “Of course,” and tightened his hold around him.

He chose the room next to their bedroom, for practicality reasons. It’d been one of Bruce’s workspaces, but when he expanded the Cave last summer, he moved all of the essentials there. So it was now a vacant space, but just as inviting as it ever was. Large windows, a good amount of space. Comfortable feeling, because it caught the sunrise. It wasn’t uncommon for Dick to spend many days there, when he was younger. He’d lay on the floor and read a book while Bruce worked on case notes.

Fond memories, those. His fingers linger over those curtains, even as he hears a distant camera noise again. It’s fine. It doesn’t make a difference.

He needs these curtains. They already feel like home.

 

When Dick gets to the cash register, he’s nervous about a few things. But he smiles and nods through polite conversation, because of _course_ he was recognized. “Oh, I’ve been fine,” he’s saying. “I’ve been taking it easy.”

His eyes nervously pass over the items the cashier is now scanning. Noticeably nursery themed accents. One of them is a wall decal with small animals. Another, a blanket with block printed letters, in matching colors. He couldn’t resist those curtains, after all, but he couldn’t resist a small stack of canvas prints that match their colors, with stamped animal silhouettes resembling the creatures on the decal. He was being painfully obvious, but at least he was being consistent with his theme.

Bruce was going to be surprised. He wonders, idly, if they can paint the walls to bring out the decal’s colors more. The off-white in that room is seeming a bit plain in comparison. Or maybe it’s a good thing for the wall to be simple, when it has this much activity going over it.

Thankfully, the cashier doesn’t bring much attention to the items. Until she notices the last one, a small, fluffy koala bear. He couldn’t resist; the color of its fur matches the curtains.

“Are these gifts,” she asks pleasantly.

“Y-Yes,” he lies, but he keeps his voice from getting too dramatic. “Housewarming,” he says with a wide smile. At least that part is true.

“How nice,” she says.

“Yeah,” he smiles a bit more naturally. Pulls out a credit card to pay, doesn’t even notice it’s one of Bruce’s until he swipes. Bruce would be considerate enough to not ask for it back4, unless he needed it.

Bruce is a good guy. So patient with him; more than he ever used to be, about anything.

He can still remember the days of them arguing, back and forth for what felt like hours, because Dick neglected to tell him he was coming home late. Small things. Petty things.

He signs his name at the register, thanks the cashier and carries his bags out. Steps outside to a few more cameras going off—of course—but he doesn’t pay them any attention as Alfred, right on cue, steps out of a car parked along the edge of the street. Opens the car door and takes his bags, even as Dick laughs they’re not that heavy, it’s fine.

Closes the car door and gives a deep, slow sigh.

“How did it go, Master Richard,” Alfred is asking, politely.

Dick smiles, subtly. Fondly. “Great,” he says. “I found some really,” and he leans his head back, settling in comfortably, “cute things. Baby’s gonna have to like animals,” he gives a faint laugh.

“I’m sure they will,” Alfred says.

“Yeah,” Dick laughs more audibly. “I mean there are so many in the design… gotta like one of them.”

“Of course,” and the car starts moving.

“Alfred,” Dick muses, openly.

“Yes, Master Richard.”

“Do you think… Bruce will let me get a dog.”

Alfred raises his eyebrows. Glances at Dick through the rearview mirror. After some silence, he says, “I don’t see why not.”

“I want a big… gentle dog,” Dick says, closing his eyes as the motion of the vehicle makes him tired. “I want my kid to have a dog. From day one, like…”

“Yes,” Alfred indulges him.

“I think every kid needs a dog,” Dick says, almost sleepily.

“Did you ever have one, Master Richard,” Alfred asks, gently.

“No, I did not,” Dick almost seems put off by that. “I never really thought about it,” but he laughs. “But Bruce has to get me one. He owes me.”

Alfred chuckles in response. “What kind of dog would you like, Master Richard.”

Dick smiles to himself, “I don’t know yet. Something friendly, but large. Patient,” he says. “A dog that makes you feel safe. But that’s still your best friend, you know. Good with kids-”

“Almost like a greyhound,” Alfred suggests.

“Yeah, maybe,” Dick trails off. “Or a great dane…”

“That would be quite nice,” Alfred says.

 

The night arrives, and Dick is about to do something else he hasn’t done in a very long time. He just doesn’t know it yet.

Bruce surprises him. Without missing a beat, he turns a page in his newspaper, and asks him directly, “Do you miss your route.”

The lamp on Bruce’s desk is illuminating his face with a warm glow, and Dick is getting lost in it, studying his features, trying to read his expression. “Yeah,” he says.

“It’d be too dangerous to revisit your old route,” Bruce says.

Dick’s eyes fall to the desk, from where he’s slumped over in the chair opposite Bruce’s. “Yeah. I know.”

“But I can offer something similar.”

“Huh,” that catches Dick’s interest. He lifts his head to look at Bruce more directly.

“You miss being high,” Bruce pauses, “Seeing the city.”

“Yes,” Dick says faintly. Says almost cryptically, “I never did like the ground much.”

“I know,” and Bruce finally closes his newspaper. “I can drive you. Out to see it again.”

“When,” Dick gives a hesitate smile.

Bruce stands up, “Right now.”

“Right… now,” Dick’s expression turns a bit incredulous.

“Yes.”

Dick stares at him. Gives a slow blink. “That’d be nice,” he says.

Bruce’s expression softens slightly. “It’s no problem,” he says. Walks past him, to gather his things. “Dress warmly,” he says.

“I know,” Dick says. But this doesn’t yet feel real, somehow. Bruce doesn’t like doing things like this. He doesn’t like being impulsive. Unless…

He’s been thinking about it, already. Must have.

Dick smiles to himself, and goes to look for his coat. But when he steps out of the room, Alfred is already standing there, arms outstretched, holding it for him. “Thanks,” Dick grins at him.

“Be careful,” Alfred says. “It’s getting dark,” he seems to disapprove.

Mama Alfred, as usual. “It’ll be fine,” Dick pouts at him. “Bruce knows how to drive, doesn’t he?”

Bruce almost responds with sarcasm, “Of course.”

Dick snickers.

 

Bruce wasn’t kidding. It’s cold. Cold as hell.

But he was smart, and brought a heavy jacket. Starts rubbing his arms for warmth as soon as he steps out of the car. Closes the door and realizes where they are; a steep hill. It feels a bit unexpected. Bruce is normally such a city dweller. He thought for sure that he’d choose a more familiar location, some usual tower downtown.

His shoes crunch over slightly wet grass as he walks to where Bruce is standing. A dark silhouette framed by a rich midnight sky, and he feels so comforted to stand beside him, in that darkness. They’re outside of the city enough to see the stars, and for a moment, Dick looks up to take in the view. Exhales faintly, letting his eyes roam.

Bruce seems to shuffle something around in his pocket; his phone, seems like.

And from the distance, a new sound. What sounds like… cloth being guided by the wind. Dick can’t place where it’s coming from. Looks at Bruce questionably, but when Bruce turns, he’s looking past him. Beyond him.

A new presence behind them, and Dick turns to see an all-too familiar face. His breath catches in his throat.

Bruce approaches the figure, calm as always. Unsurprised. He planned this. Of course he did.

Dick feels overwhelmed, and he’s not sure why. “Clark,” his voice a faint whisper.

“At your service,” but it’s not Clark standing in front of him. He should’ve been more proper. It’s Superman, cape and all.

Clark steps forward, with his arms held out in a tentative embrace. “May I,” and Dick almost laughs in response.

“Of course,” because he’s never been one to resist a hug from _Superman_. He’s big and he’s broad and warm.

Clark’s smiling as he keeps his voice kind and gentle, the way only Superman could manage. “How are you. How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” Dick chuckles nervously. “I feel like I’m twelve years old,” he sends a nervous glance to Bruce, but Bruce simply tilts his head in some bewilderment.

“No need,” Clark reassures him. “You’re safe with me.”

“Safe with…” he narrows his eyes. “What do you… _Bruce._ ”

Clark laughs. “You’re right. It was his idea.”

Bruce makes a faint sound under his breath, almost with sarcasm.

“But I won’t do anything you don’t want to,” Clark says.

“Depends on what you’re offering,” Dick smirks at him.

“What else,” Clark smiles wide. “A friend told me something amusing, earlier.” He gestures to Bruce, and Dick stifles a laugh. “He said you were feeling a bit grounded lately.”

Dick’s eyes grow wide.

“Long ago… I do recall a certain bird saying he likes being in the sky. May I help?”

Dick is shaking, but it’s not just because he’s cold. He feels his face tensing. His eyes are welling up, and he tries to will them to stop. But because he can’t speak, he just nods. Does his best attempt.

“Dick, you don’t need to be nervous,” with a kind hand on his shoulder.

“I’m not,” but he gives a shaky laugh.

A squeeze to his shoulder, and Dick can’t do much else but to nod. “It’ll be fun. I promise.”

Behind them, a voice that hasn’t spoken in a while. “Be careful.”

“As if I wouldn’t be,” Clark teases him. Says in a quiet voice, “I know what he means to you.”

Bruce is too embarrassed to respond to that. Turns his face away as Clark puts an arm around Dick.

 

Oh.

He forgot how beautiful the city was.

Clark doesn’t get too ambitious. He errs on the side of caution, the way Bruce would want him to. For the first half of the journey, they drift just barely above rooftops, past the far reaches of where their patrols would lead them. Drifting over suburbs, quaint houses in secluded neighborhoods that have no need of the caped defenders’ watchful eyes. Across a vast park that sprawls for several blocks, tucked away near the riverfront. They stop for a bit at the edge of the water, and Dick stands along the rocky shore and admires the waves for a few minutes before he decides it’s a bit too cold to remain there.

Back across downtown, far above the heights of the Wayne complex, over the grandiose towers that now look a bit small—and still incredibly striking, still beautiful. Cars moving on the roads like small toys, traffic lights like tiny dots of vibrant colors and clouds gathering across the distant horizon, the moon glowing so large it feels within reach.

It’s been so long since he’s seen many of these places. Old apartment buildings he recognizes, commercial towers he used to frequent as a businessman. Freeways, highways, roads spanning miles. A peculiar art installation, a giant statue of a student reading a book, in the center of a small park; it was donated by the Wayne Foundation.

“Clark,” Dick finally asks.

“Yes,” and somehow his voice sounds more heroic than usual.

“How much has Bruce told you.”

Clark smiles, almost too knowingly. “About as much as he would tell anyone.” He adds, with some humor, “Anyone that’s not you, of course.”

Dick finds that amusing, but it also makes him feel funny. A bit flushed, almost. His eyes are resting on the far horizon, where the familiar hill is beginning to return into view. At the edge of the city, where Bruce is, no doubt, waiting for their return.

“Before we get back,” Clark says, “I do have one question for you.”

“Yeah, of course.”

Clark doesn’t skip a beat. “How is the baby?”

“Ah,” Dick is almost embarrassed. He manages, “it’s fine.”

“And the parent,” Clark almost winks at him.

“Pretty good, right now,” with a small laugh.

“I won’t intrude into your life,” Clark says calmly, “But please, let me know if you need anything. Even a favor like this,” he smiles warmly, “Is very easy for me to manage.”

“That’s kind of you,” Dick says.

“It’s really no trouble,” Clark nods.

The hill is getting a bit closer. The familiar silhouette of a lone man standing, to greet them. But Dick has one more question. “Can you hear it, Clark.”

“Hmm,” Clark asks, to clarify.

“You know, the…” but it’s difficult to say twice.

“I heard a distinct heartbeat many weeks ago,” Clark grins at him.

“Whoa,” Dick almost laughs.

“I noticed it one evening, when I was visiting with Bruce. It was… unmistakable. But he told me not to bother you, so you could rest. I didn’t say anything, just in case…”

“In case what,” Dick smirks.

“Well, it wasn’t my place to ask about it. I wasn’t sure he knew. I wouldn’t dare mention it, without checking with you first.”

“Ah,” as they start to drift down.

“But I am remarkably glad,” as their feet touch the ground, fresh grass just the way they left it, “things are going well for you both.” He turns to greet Bruce, who slowly walks up to them. His footsteps seem heavy, but his expression is calm.

Bruce looks at Dick, and Dick makes sure to send him a small smile, to let him know he’s fine. Not to worry, the way he so often would.

“I’ll take my leave,” Clark politely says, with a single bow.

“Thank you,” Dick says with enthusiasm, before Clark can leave. “That was wonderful.”

“Of course. It’s as I told you,” he smiles, with a single wave. “Anytime.” He nods, to Bruce, “I’ll see you later, friend.”

“Thank you,” Bruce echoes Dick’s statement with a more somber, but well-intentioned tone.

Clark gives them one more kind look, and drifts back into the night. Dick’s eyes trail after the movement of that silhouette as he hovers in front of the moon and vanishes from view.

Dick’s expression is more calm, then. His eyes lower to the ground as Bruce almost nervously shuffles around, as if starting to walk towards the car. “Bruce,” he says. The footsteps stop.

Bruce turns to look at him, and for a moment they stare at each other.

Dick says it very quietly, delicately. “You didn’t have to.”

But Bruce doesn’t respond. Not with words. He steps forward, closing some of the distance between them. Reaches out and takes hold of Dick’s hands, raising them as he presses a kiss to his fingers.

Dick looks at him with a quiet, deepening sort of awe. Expressions of such affection from the man are rare; much less so in public, even under the cloak of night like this.

Bruce holds his hands so tightly, before he lets go of them. Lets go and pulls Dick into a sudden embrace.

“Bruce…”

But Bruce’s response remains wordless. He continues to hold him, in that silence. Holds him closer than he has in a long time, a hand on his back, fingertips fondly smoothing across the fine hairs at the nape of his neck.

Bruce is kissing the side of his face and Dick almost shivers from the unexpected rush of emotion.

“I love you,” Dick says.

Bruce exhales faintly, his response a deep frown as he leans back to properly kiss his mouth.

“Bruce,” and Dick starts to feel a bit concerned. “Are you alright.”

Bruce looks at him, the way he hasn’t in so many days. Eyes heavy and face tense. So tense. And when he speaks, his voice is almost fragile, in a way he’s never heard before. “You’re everything to me.”

Before Dick can respond with words, Bruce is kissing him again. Both arms around his shoulders as he holds him there, keeps him still to continue that kiss for what feels like many minutes. Extended moments in time where the air is cool and crisp and the only sound is the wind stirring leaves.

But Dick is still a little worried, so when Bruce pulls back again, he’s attempting to lighten the mood. “You know I’m not going anywhere, right,” with a hesitant grin. “You don’t need to prove anything to me.”

“It’s never been about proving anything,” Bruce finally finds a bit more words.

“Then what is all-”

“I don’t want you to be unhappy.”

Dick’s chest seems to tighten.

“If you are not happy, I can’t be.”

Dick almost laughs, but it’s more nervous energy than anything. “Almost sounds like you’re proposing to me.”

“If I could do it again,” and Bruce finally lessens his hold on him. Takes a step back, “I would.”

Dick’s lingering grin turns into a more genuine smile. “We can pretend you are, if you want.”

“I never got you a ring,” Bruce admits, with some shame.

“Tsk tsk,” Dick teases.

“I will.”

“You don’t have to…”

“I will. Then we can marry properly.”

“You mean…”

Bruce looks at him directly. “A proper wedding.”

Dick can’t speak anymore.

“We’ll invite your loved ones. Treat it as the celebration it should be.”

“Bruce,” but it’s hard to speak with his face tensing up.

“We can start over. We can announce it correctly.”

“Bruce,” even as his eyes are welling with tears, “I’m saying you don’t have to…”

“I won’t treat you like something I’m ashamed of.”

Dick starts trembling. Crosses his arms over his chest to help stifle some of it.

Bruce leans forward. Says it with conviction, “I won’t lie anymore.”

Dick nods, but he makes the mistake of blinking. Tears fall, and Bruce’s reassuring hands on his shoulders.

He amends his statement, “But I will wait for your permission.”

Dick wipes at the corner of his eyes with unsteady fingers. Nods. “Soon,” he says. And from his nervous energy, he laughs as Bruce runs his hands down his arms. “Soon, I promise.”

Bruce is pulling him into another embrace. This time, Dick returns it with more enthusiasm. Throws his arms around him and cries in silence.

But it doesn’t hurt. Whatever this feeling is.

It doesn’t hurt anymore.

 

“I don’t know. I think I’m kind of depressed. Maybe it’s normal.”

It’s cold out here, but Bruce is trying to clear his mind. He’s standing out on the balcony just beyond their bedroom. Eyes surveying the vast gardens that sprawl across the acres. He remembers when he had these installed. Before, it was just wide open land, overwhelmed by sparse trees and tall grass. But Dick’s eyes lit up when he described a sort of labyrinth, a maze of hedges and flowers.

So much of this manor was built to his wishes. So many gifts, small and large, scattered around.

Depressed. It’s gnawing at the edge of his thoughts.

Dick has been remarkably more optimistic in recent days. Since he said something so low, casual, in passing like he hadn’t given it much concern. Bruce is hoping he’s done enough to help him.

He’s been watching his boy sink deeper into himself and it’s achingly familiar territory. They’ve been here before. Each episode has been more difficult to escape than the last. Every time Dick starts to slide into that darkness, neither of them can know how long he’ll remain there.

Bruce can’t let it happen again. He’s desperate to spare him from that return to the abyss. From that despair. Because once it settles, it lingers. It lingers, and lingers.

 _If you are not happy, I can’t be_. The truth is heavier.

Bruce is never content, apart from the days when Dick is overjoyed to be alive.

He’s doing what he can to make amends for the harm he’s caused. The years of stress, of grief, of isolation. When he sent his soulmate far away, to resolve his selfish desires. Unrealistic, aggressive, harmful demands. He’ll never forget the look on Dick’s face, when he broke their relationship off. He’ll never forget the way he looked at him; eyes wild and afraid.

No, not afraid. Terrified.

He broke him, that day. When Bruce turned his back on him, Dick cried, and cried. He yelled after him as he left. Yelled for him not to leave. He’d never heard his voice sound like that before; never again after.

He’s carried lingering pieces of that regret ever since. It eases slightly, when he’s near him. When they kiss, when they touch, when Dick shares a moment of happiness with him. He’s slowly healing the old wounds, but they cut deep. He didn’t just hurt his lover, that day. He damaged himself.

They married soon after reuniting. Only a couple of years. It felt overdue, but it also felt too soon. Because their injuries hadn’t healed yet. They didn’t trust each other enough. And even though Dick agreed to it, he almost seemed to hesitate before he signed the paperwork.

It was him, Dick, and Alfred to oversee the proceeding. In a small room, in a legal office. Professional, clean, simple. No theatrics, only an almost chaste kiss and a slight embrace before they parted ways to return to the office for an afternoon meeting.

He’s always known that Dick deserved better. He promised himself he’d deliver on that promise one day, when things had calmed down between them. When he’d managed to make things right.

Right enough for Dick to wear his ring with unrestrained joy.

To look at him the way he did that night on the hill. He’s never seen that look before. That level of emotion, in his shaking hands, his tearful eyes, his cracking voice. He’s never seen that emotion associated with something joyful, something powerful, something so full of awe.

He could die content, for that moment alone. Almost.

Glances over his shoulder, at the large windows that lead into the house. Thinks of his lover, deep in sleep by now. Wants to spend time with him, but doesn’t want to wake him. Wants little more than to lay down beside him, to forget the patrol, to indulge in his love and remain there restfully beside him until morning.

But he has a job to do, and he can’t lose sight of it. Because this city isn’t worth much if it’s not safe for them. If it’s not safe for his family.

Family.

Lets his mind wander into that surreal territory, holding that delicate thought close as it warms his soul.

What more can he do, for him.

What more can he do for them.

 

“Your discretion is appreciated.”

Always so formal, Bruce. Dick almost smirks to himself, eyes calmly drifting towards the muted television as he sinks further into the couch. A subtle exhale and his eyes are feeling heavy, but in a nice change of pace, it’s not from the stress.

Footsteps. More polite conversation.

He won’t be allowed in the room for another few hours. Bruce insists.

Blinks slowly. Idly wonders if they got the colors right. Wasn’t sure if his instructions made sense. They had swatches, but when they started explaining something about the lighting and the room’s temperature he started tuning out some of the words.

Turns onto his side. It’s less comfortable, these days. But not yet impossible.

Bruce’s low voice is a soothing rumble in the quiet house, and a door closes for the last time. All footsteps are gone except for his. Dick closes his eyes. _Come back to me,_ he’s thinking, but he’s not sure why. Sometimes that thought just appears before he can use reason to chase it away and be more discreet, even to himself.

Footsteps heavy and slow. Steady and slow, and then hesitant when they inch ever closer. He thinks he’s asleep. He doesn’t want to wake him. Sure.

So Dick offers a quiet, faint, “Bruce.”

The footsteps pause. Slow, shallow breathing. “Yes.”

“Does it look nice,” he asks.

“Yes. Exactly as you requested.”

“I’m excited,” but his murmured voice betrays his tiredness, and he yawns into his hand.

“Get some rest,” Bruce says.

“Yeah,” and sometimes it feels like Bruce says that every day. It’s not a bad thing.

But it is… Different. Feels different than it used to.

He’s trying to get comfortable and he’s thinking that maybe it’s not such a bad thing to be looked after.

 

“This isn’t what I asked for,” are his first words.

Bruce frowns with some confusion. Arms loosely crossed over his chest as he’s trying to read the situation. The way he always does; he stares in silence until he reads him correctly.

Dick’s expression is a bit of a mystery. His eyes are wandering the room, not stopping on any single element. He’s chewing on his bottom lip and he almost squints at something in the corner of the room. “That’s…”

“I assumed you wanted them up,” Bruce is saying. But his lowered brow conveys a bit of hesitation. He’s still not getting an accurate read on him.

Dick walks forward, towards a small arrangement of three picture frames on the wall. Studies them, his eyes darting between the images and the color of paint. And back again. “It matches so well,” he says.

Bruce finally starts to relax; eases some of the tension in his shoulders.

“They have the same accent color,” he almost laughs. “I didn’t even notice.”

“You have a good eye,” Bruce says.

Dick finally starts to smile. A genuinely, slow growing smile that only gets brighter as he resumes looking around the room. So much more than what he asked for. They painted the walls, they lined the trim, they upgraded the carpet. They moved in furniture according to the notes he gave Bruce some time ago. They mounted the artwork and even scattered a few treasures around the room; stuffed animals he’d been gathering from his impulsive shopping trips, picture books on shelves and a crib with whimsical fabric that matches the new curtains.

He’s looking around and he’s biting his lip and his eyes are welling up when they land on the decal. He’d noticed it right away, but he hadn’t really taken a good look until now. Rising from behind the crib, and up towards the ceiling, it’s more impressive than he imagined. More striking. More beautiful.

Small animals in a silhouette, from the ground and into a simulated horizon, and among them a large tree, its branches elegant and vibrant as they curl and bend towards the ceiling. His eyes are widening as he notices it embodies all of the colors in this room. He felt warm when he first saw it, even back at the store. And seeing the colors on the wall, now, those shapes and textures he’s understanding why.

When he attempts to talk, it escapes as a mangled sound and he covers his mouth with his hands.

“Dick,” Bruce is taking a step towards him. An arm extended to offer an embrace.

Dick doesn’t attempt words; he looks at him and hopes he understands.

A familiar embrace, strong arms around his shoulder and he buries his face against Bruce’s chest. He’s aware that he’s crying, but there’s nothing to be done for it. He lets it happen. Closes his eyes. Lets his chest shake and a few muffled sounds come out and that’s fine, he just needs to say something.

Bruce is waiting for him to speak. He doesn’t know.

Dick manages a faint, “Thank you.”

Bruce kisses him on the forehead. His voice almost tense, with a sharp intake of breath. “Welcome.”

Anything.

For you, everything.

 

A voice is droning on the phone and Bruce is staring at his phone. It’s a rare day at the office; he’s not supposed to be here, not really. But he doesn’t want to bring this heavy business talk into his home.

He doesn’t want to bring any of this heavy conversation around Dick.

He’s staring at his phone, at a photograph he took a few days ago in the nursery. Since it was updated, it’s quickly becoming one of Dick’s favorite rooms in the manor. He’s viewing it as a sort of reading room. Will often bring a book or two and sprawl on the floor for hours. Says it calms his mind. Good for lowering his stress levels. Something like that.

“You know what they’re saying about you, right,” the voice on the phone is getting increasingly irate. He knows he’s being ignored.

Glancing up, Bruce reaches over and presses the speaker button as he responds. “I am aware.”

“We are a resilient company,” the voice stresses, “but I am not the only person to be concerned at the storm that’s brewing. We’ve had bad press before,” he says.

Bruce is looking again at that picture. Zooms in a little closer, on the face captured in it.

“But we’ve never had to deal with deeply personal attacks on the character of our company’s founder.”

Bruce presses the speaker button again with a small chuckle, “That seems to be a slight exaggeration. Surely it’s not the first time I’ve been called irresponsible.”

“They are calling you _worse_ things than irresponsible, Bruce.”

“I can imagine,” but he doesn’t want to dig deeper than that.

“For the first time, investors are questioning your commitment to Wayne Corp.”

On his phone, Bruce stares down at the face of the person he loves more than anything. A half-startled smile when Bruce caught him off-guard. Dick looked up from his book to the small click of Bruce’s camera. “What was that for,” he’d laughed. Bruce wishes he’d captured that expression too.

“Because of your sudden departures, they are questioning both yours and your protégé’s integrity.”

Bruce’s response is swift. “Dick has nothing to do with questions of _my_ integrity.”

“But surely you can see how it’s suspicious. You both abandoned ship at largely the same time. It looks like you know something we don’t, Bruce.”

“Yes.” But he doesn’t know how to fill in the next words. How much he can tell them. Gives himself a moment to think.

“Yes to what, Bruce?”

“We are both aware of the same situation… that is happening within our family.”

For the first time in several minutes, there is silence on the other end.

“Please do me a favor,” and Bruce’s voice is a bit more firm. Focused. “And communicate this to our investors. This decision we have made, him and I… It has _nothing_ to do with Wayne Corp. We are distancing ourselves to ensure that our personal business does not affect the standing of this company.”

And on the phone, that voice is a bit smaller. Uncertain. “Are you… saying that our reputation is at risk?”

“Only if you insist on bridging our personal decision to this company. Instead of treating it as the very personal situation that it is.”

“But we need to know what the situation _is_ , Bruce-”

“You do not.”

“For the sake of damage control-”

“You will know when we tell you.” To curb any protest, “Not one single minute before.”

“When is that going to be, then,” with some dry humor.

“When he is ready.”

“Please, Bruce, for the sake of the company.” Voice a bit kinder. “I understand it’s very personal, but our stock is taking a dramatic turn, and-”

“I will not speak on Dick’s behalf. This is his choice. Period.”

“So this situation… is primarily about him. That’s what you’re saying.”

Bruce clears his throat. Thinks. “Yes.”

“But all your talk about taking time off for your family-”

“He is my family.”

“Oh.” But it almost sounds defeated. Unsure.

“Right now, he is my only concern.”

“I… can understand that. I just…” and a defeated sigh. “I need an answer for the investors, Bruce. We need some information for them. Anything useful.”

“Dick’s health is in a delicate state.” Bruce has to slow himself down, to choose his words carefully. Fingers tapping against the speaker before he hits the button, “I will not stress him about this. If you have an issue with my integrity or decisions, _fine_. I will assist in any way I can. I will answer questions that are about my own choices. But please leave him out of this.”

An uncomfortable pause. In that tension, Bruce is running a hand over his face, fingers massaging his temple slowly.

On the line, a resigned response. Almost like throwing in the towel. It’s so quiet, Bruce almost doesn’t hear it. “Is he going to be alright.”

“Yes.” Nods to himself. That’s a fair answer.

“So he is… the reason you stepped down. Correct?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

It’s not a good ending to the conversation. But they’re reaching an impasse. Hopefully. Ideally. He’s already said more than he intended.

“Can you promise me… that this has nothing to do with our stock, our recent business agreements, or any insider information.”

“Yes. This is entirely… about Dick and myself. We both have utmost faith in where we positioned the company to be,” and it feels so uncomfortable to talk about their relationship in this way. This sterile, polite, discreet way.

“Thank you.”

It’s unnatural.

 

Another day. Another post to Instagram.

He’s paying Bruce back. Took an impulsive photo while Bruce was reading the newspaper, with his morning coffee. Bruce looked up to the click sound and almost frowned at him.

But there’s something attractive about such a professional, organized man seeming a bit unkempt and on the fringe of tiredness. Something Dick always appreciated about his eyes when he was like this, more hazy, meandering, heavy. Something alluring in his scruffy face and his tousled hair.

So he posted it. Tagged it #goodmorning and knew no one would really understand, but he wanted to post it because it makes him happy.

A comment beneath the photo, from a curious fan. _Would love to see the two of you being your dapper selves again. Why haven’t you been attending any events?_

So he writes back, _I’m sorry! I can’t fit into any of my formal clothes._

Another commenter laughs that he must really be letting himself go.

He writes back, _Yeah, I’m putting on a bit of weight. :)_

Chuckles a bit to himself and checks the responses. A lot of comments, swooning over Bruce. Of course they are. Many comments to the idea of, _I wanna wake up next to this!_

He toys with the idea of responding that yes, it really is nice. But he knows that’s too bold. He’d put the cart before the horse. So he jokes instead. _No, you probably don’t. He’s very grumpy before his coffee._

It feels nice. Speaking more openly, like this. Not revealing anything dangerous, but being able to let these small truths go. To say things without thinking about the lie they’ve been living for so long.

Wonders what it will be like to speak openly about their love for each other.

Sighs and takes a slow sip from his cup of tea.

God. How amazing.

 

“Please tell them you’re dating a man,” she bats her eyelashes at him.

“ _Donna_.”

“I can’t survive this,” she whines. “You know there’s another photo of us, right?”

“Aww.”

“No, not _aww!_ Oh no, poor Donna.”

Dick laughs.

“I’m never gonna find a husband,” she slumps back against the couch. Her hair spills over her shoulders. “and I’m getting so old, Dick. So old.”

“Maybe it’ll raise your stock value,” he says, with a smirk.

“You’re kidding.”

“Make you seem like you’re in high demand. Especially by a handsome man like myself.”

She playfully hits him in the arm. “You’re lame.”

“Ow,” he feigns distress.

“Very dramatic,” she says.

They recline on the couch and stare into the space of the manor’s quiet, almost too luxurious living room. Sunlight illuminating the walls on a chilly almost-spring day and Donna’s eyes are wandering, drifting across the furniture and raising an eyebrow at those gosh darn ugly curtains she hates so much.

“I mean, seriously,” she says, “Can’t you redesign this place a little.”

“Maybe when the baby comes,” he chuckles, “When I have more energy.”

“You’ll have a lot less of it,” she teases. But she narrows her eyes. “I’m so curious.”

“Huh,” he glances at her. Clasps his hands together.

“That’s gonna be one strange kid,” she says. “You two are weird.”

“Thanks,” he says dryly.

“It’s not a bad thing, just, you know,” she shrugs. “Gonna be interesting.”

“I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

“Hey,” she nudges him in the arm.

“Yes.”

“On a scale of 5 to 10, how pretentious was Bruce as a kid.”

Dick laughs.

“You know you’re getting one of those, right? You’re gonna get a brilliant, savvy, horribly bratty child.”

“Why are you so mean,” but he’s smiling from ear to ear.

“You _know_ you were a handful. I _know_ Bruce was a handful. There is no peaceful outcome here for you.”

“That is so funny,” but his eyes get heavy. “Wally said the same thing.”

“Ah…”

 “He said I’m gonna have a kid that’ll piss me off a lot. Like how Bruce does.”

“Aww,” she pouts with some sympathy.

“Said he was scared,” but he’s grinning about it.

“But you’re excited,” Donna smirks at him.

“Y-yeah,” and something flips in his chest. A nervous laugh and he’s smoothing his hands over his stomach without thinking. “I don’t care if my kid’s a brat,” he almost giggles. “I can’t wait.”

Donna tilts her head, and stares at him. A calm smile settles into her expression.

“Hm,” Dick notices her staring and raises his eyebrows.

“You’re feeling better about it,” she says.

He almost sighs, but it’s not unhappy. “Yeah.” Nods. “It’s a little less frightening.”

Donna smiles a bit wider.

“I’m so close to telling everybody, like… that’s terrifying but…”

“You know it’s happening, no matter what,” she says.

“Yeah. I can’t stop the train.” He shrugs. “I’ve got a cover story printing in like… two weeks. I’m telling everybody and their grandma.”

“How much, though.”

“Hm?”

“How much are you telling them?”

He almost sighs.

“Not the full story.”

“Most of it. The important part,” he nods. “About… you know… me. The gender thing. The baby thing.”

She keeps her voice quiet, and gentle. “You’re not gonna tell them about the Bruce thing?”

“I will,” and he closes his eyes for a moment. “It’s just like… I can only climb one mountain at a time, Donna.”

She smirks, but she understands.

“Let everybody get used to this, first. Get me some free press, while they debate who the daddy is-”

“I think it’s kinda obvious,” she teases.

“Maybe it is.” He pauses. “Maybe it isn’t. Oh _ho_.”

“You cad. You’re awful.”

He laughs.

 

(additional scene)

Jason calls, “What, I’m not allowed to be concerned? You know the world’s still gonna be here when you get back, right? Try and enjoy your vacation, just a little. Try it. Do it for me.”

Dick laughs back, “Aww. Are you actually worried about me?”

“I might be. A little.”

“That’s cute, Jay.”

“I’m still your brother. We’ve got our rough spots, but… you know.”

“I know.” After a pause, “Thank you.”

“You know, I’m… I’m not sure how to explain this, but, like…” and he almost sighs, “The more I masquerade as.. _you know who_ … I’m learning a lot about the man behind the mask.”

Dick lets out a small laugh. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. People think really highly of you.”

“Aww, that’s-”

“Really. Really highly of you.”

“..Ah.”

“You’re a good guy, Dickie. I don’t give you enough credit.”

“That’s… mature of you to say.” He laughs quietly. “Are you feeling alright?”

“It’s okay. I see that humility masking embarrassment.”

Dick laughs.

“You’re great. You’re a real hero.”

“So are you.”

Jason scoffs, “huh. That’d be interesting. Maybe if I chase your shadow long enough… it’ll catch up to me. That… _heroic_ spirit.”

“Come on,” but Dick is laughing under his breath.

“Maybe I’ll learn your ways. And be the guy everyone wants me to be.”

“I think you already are.”

“Nah-”

“You didn’t have to help me, you know? That was all you.”

“I guess it was. Weird.”

“Weird?”

“Yeah. I didn’t wanna let you down.”

“Gosh,” and Jason can hear his smile on the phone, “Thanks. I love you, Jay.”

“Don’t get too cheesy on me.”

/Dick laughs


End file.
